


Through Feline Eyes

by Magi_Silverwolf



Series: To Make a Difference [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Deviations for multiple characters, Canon-Typical Biogotry, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Xenophobia, Gen, Manipulative Dumbledore, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society, References to Time Travel, Slight Deviations from secondary canonical sources, Time Travel Fix-It, references to human trafficking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magi_Silverwolf/pseuds/Magi_Silverwolf
Summary: Madam Pomfrey failed to fix a magical mishap only once. Unfortunately for Hermione, it was the Polyjuice incident. Being stuck with a few cat traits would have been bad enough, but the Ministry had to get involved.





	1. The End of the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

**Canon Warning** : While this story is expected to follow a similar event timeline as the original series, certain aspects of the characters’ situations have been changed and this has the potential of changing the events in the timeline. Also certain aspects of the universe itself are different from the books and interviews. They should be obvious and I will be using the fact that both Hermione and Harry are outsiders to the magical world to get explanations out there. If I miss any, feel free you let me know.

 

 **Note from the Author** :

This story deals with several topics which may not be appropriate for younger audiences. It will show the darker side of humanity and explore those aspects. Expect mentions of child abuse and neglect, human trafficking, various degrees of dubious consent, exploration of sexuality by minors, practices of various faiths, prejudice in various forms, and violence.

 

One thing that I believe firmly is that there is no Black and White; that everything is a shade of gray. Thus “good” characters may display the same “bad” traits that they do in canon and “evil” characters may do “good” things. The human condition is vastly complicated. While I strive not to “bash” a character, there are times when a spade must be called a spade.

 

As an author, I ask for my readers and reviewers to bear in mind that while Rowling’s work was meant for children, this story is not targeting the same age group. It will firmly deserve its rating.

 

I trust my readers and reviewers to be respectful and not shocked about subject matter. Questions are okay, and even encouraged, and I promise to place more specific warning on chapters with graphic details or notations where sections have been removed. Slander or ad hominem attacks will be reported. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Constructive criticism will be listened to even if it seems otherwise.

 

 _Through Feline Eyes_ is inspired by a challenge issued on the AFF forums. While the challenge focused upon the more carnal potential of Hermione’s situation, this story will focus on the human side more, especially at first. I do have a partial outline and a few scenes planned, but they are all prior to fifth year.

 

**Specific Warnings for this Story:**

T(w)eens being young but still needing to be the one to deal with things: This story picks up during Chamber of Secrets. With the August 31st cutoff for enrollment, chronological ages of the study group range from Hermione’s September 1979 (13) to Luna’s November 1980 (12) (and for later reference, Ginny’s August 1981 [11]). These are kids, no matter how socially aware they may seem at times, and my experience with children is that they are all more than a little ethnocentric. Btw, I have moved this deadline to August 1st in my works.

 

Classism vs Purism: Yes, this story does deal with “Nature’s Nobility” both in the sense of the nobility social class and in the sense of a better brand of human (and not everyone in the story agrees on what makes who better). These opinions run the gauntlet and are a reoccurring theme for this story in addition of being a major plot device.

 

This story focuses on character plots—which means lots of introspection and internal conflict. This story also focuses on the ongoing and every changing state of human rights in Wizarding UK, especially the political aspects of the definition of “Being”. The unfortunate side effect is I am not aiming for a lot of action—there will be some as we go, but it is not the _goal_ as it was in the canon.

 

 **Revision Note (12/2016):** All chapters have been gone over and minor revisions have been made. The most drastic of which was a character name change (Blink and you’d miss its use. Don’t worry. The character has not had any published scene time.) as well as formatting to make it all look the same. It is also more compliant with _The Schrodinger Effect_ , as much as is possible with it being unfinished.

 

 **Dedication:** This story is dedicated to the estimated 27 million men, women, and children who have had their humanity stolen from them for mere commercial gain while the rest of us pretend it doesn’t affect us. We are One. We are Human.

 

Now the Story…

 

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 01: The End of the Beginning

-= LP =-

“They do not love that do not show their love.” – William Shakespeare

-= LP =-

 

“I’m sorry,” Professor McGonagall said and Harry had to admit that she certainly looked it. Though her features were set as sternly as ever, he had learned that the smaller details such as eyes were more important to reading someone’s expressions and the Transfiguration teacher’s eyes were filled with sorrow, resignation, and tears. Harry nodded at her to show that he understood what she had told him. Beside him, Ron gave an understanding smile. Unfortunately, his next words just proved to Harry just how much he did _not_ understand the situation.

 

“So she’s gonna be a cat for the rest of her life? Wicked!”

 

Harry looked at Ron aghast that he would say such a thing after being told about Hermione’s circumstances. Didn’t Ron understand what it meant by Hermione was going to be sold at the end of the school year? Harry had nicked enough newspapers and magazines to know some of what happened to girls and women after they were sold. The thought that Hermione, bossy but nice Hermione, was going to become one of those slaves made Harry’s stomach tighten dangerously. Harry felt an impotent anger coursing through him and Ron had unwittingly provided it a target.

 

“You’re being a prat! Don’t you realize what ‘being sold’ means? She’ll be no better than a pet!”

 

“But, Harry—if she’s a cat, then she is a pet,” Ron protested, his face flushing in reactive anger. “I mean, she’ll be like a house elf, wouldn’t she? She might look a little like a person, but she’s not really one. Think, Harry: she won’t be able to bug us about homework anymore.”

 

In that moment, Harry forgot to care that there was a professor in the room. He forgot that Ron was supposed to be one of his best friends and that he didn’t have so many that he could afford to lose one. All he saw was someone like his uncle who would dismiss Harry as “just a freak”, but Ron was far less intimidating than the much taller and broader (and not to mention fully grown if overweight) man. Harry saw Hermione beating herself with a lamp like Dobby had done when he visited Privet Drive before the start of the year for no other reason than talking bad about her owner and a foul taste filled his mouth as everything took on a red tinge. In that moment, Harry was angry, wanting nothing more than to lash out, and Ron just gave him the perfect target.

 

“Hermione does more than that, you berk! She’s funny and smart! She gets this whole magic thing much more than I do.”

 

“You know, you’re right,” Ron conceded, looking thoughtful, “I will miss her help on homework—"

 

Ron never got a chance to finish his sentence as he was forced to stumble backwards from the force of Harry's punch. Harry stood there, shocked at what he did—he knew better than to fight. He always came off the worse in a fight—well, maybe not always. He did win the one against Quirrell last year, after all, but Ron didn't have Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head. The boys stared at each other, both slowly paling. Harry had to consciously focus on unclench his fists. He could feel a slight moist feeling on his right hand and it ached from its contact with Ron's jaw.

 

"Ron, I'm—"

 

"Gone barmy, yeah, I gathered that. Listen, I'll—"

 

"No, you listen! Hermione has been a friend—a right good one, too, and I won't have you insulting her, Ron," Harry interrupted venomously. Later, when he wasn't quite so angry, he would reflect on the strangeness of his persistent anger, but right now, it clawed at his insides like a hungry beast. Despite the little voice that warned him not to push this, Harry couldn't let it go. It touched far too close to the spot that hurt whenever the Dursleys said something similar about him or about his parents. "She helps us with our homework because she cares, Ron, and I think you'd care just a bit more than what you're acting that she might be—that she might be—"

 

Harry didn't want to say it, as if by not saying it, it wouldn't ever happen. He knew the word, of course. The magazine hadn't defined it, but had said the word in a very matter of fact manner. He had used the big dictionary in the Surrey Library to find the definition. The librarian had been really upset when she had found him looking up that word and the others that related. She had adamantly explained the wrongness of it. Surely, Ron, with his loving parents, knew what would happen to the third part of their trio?

 

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for hitting another student," McGonagall said in the gap left by Harry's faltering over the possible future of Hermione. She sighed deeply before adding, "and ten points to Gryffindor for defending a friend in peril. Now, Misters Weasley and Potter, please return to your seats. The headmaster has managed to put off the Ministry until the end of the school year, so until then I want you to act as if nothing has changed and try to help Miss Granger adjust to the changes that she has undergone."

 

"Professor," Harry asked as he took his seat, "will Hermione really be auctioned to the highest bidder?"

 

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter," the Scottish woman regretfully replied. Her brogue was thick in her dismay. Harry rubbed his left palm over the knuckles of his right hand to help ease the dull throbbing there. The throbbing in his heart would probably take much longer to heal. He glared at the ink well setting innocently on McGonagall's desk. In an attempt to distract himself, he mentally listed the different shades of magic clinging to it. The silence was tense as Harry screwed up his courage to ask the question that usually got the worse beatings from his aunt and uncle.

 

"Why?"

 

"I don't know, Mr. Potter. Perhaps we'll never know fully, but I suspect that it has a lot to do with the policies of the Senior Undersecretary, a woman by the name of Dolores Umbridge. She feels—very strongly about those who are part magical creature…and those of muggle heritage."

 

"But she's not showing…um, you know…different instincts? Just the furriness?"

 

"Madam Pomfrey has gotten rid of most of the fur now. Miss Granger just has the tail and ears now. From what I've seen, she does not demonstrate any more of a cat's instincts than an animagus would."

 

"Then why, Professor? Why say she's not a person? She still thinks—she still feels. She still can do magic. Why pretend that she can't?"

 

"Oh, Mr. Potter," the woman said with a deep sigh. "Why indeed?"

 

-= LP =-

 

Hermione had known when she erupted in fur after taking her portion of the Polyjuice that her life was about to change. Of course, her unfailing faith in authority had immediately assured her that everything would be all right. Madam Pomfrey would fix her in a trice. Surely there was something to be done.

 

But the foul-tasting flushing potion did not get rid of the tail or move her ears back from their perch atop her head. No matter how many flicks or swishes that the matron gave of her wand, Hermione’s claws remained in place of her bitten nails. The complicated spell that took five full minutes to say did very little to the roughness of her tongue and the new shape of her pupils.

 

Madam Pomfrey had called in an accidental magic expert from St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries at that point and the whole useless process had repeated. The healers began experimenting. All they managed to affect was changing the colors of her cat features from matching Millicent Bulstrode’s kneazle to being more in line with her natural coloring. Despite the lack of significant process, Hermione had not begun to be afraid until the expert had mentioned having to inform the Ministry of Magic about the situation. Even that would not have been frightening if Madam Pomfrey’s reaction had not been practically begging for continued silence.

 

It was not until she met the dispassionate representative from the Control of Magical Creatures Department that Hermione truly began to worry. The man had been cold to the point of rudeness, and it only got worse after learning that her parents were muggles. He had explained to the headmaster, not to Hermione—that it was not as if a _real_ witch had been involved and that was why she could not be classified as a “being”. It was in that conversation that she had learned what happened to “magical creatures” without that classification. They had to be taken care of by someone; someone had to be responsible for _it_. “Owned” was the word the representative had used. It reminded Hermione of her cousin’s hunting dogs.

 

Even now, she felt sick at the memory of Dumbledore negotiating in the middle of the Hospital Wing with its too bright light and overly clean smell. Halfway through the byplay, Madam Pomfrey had left, pale and shaking. It was a sight as unnerving as hearing her future and possible uses discussed and argued in front of her. Hermione knew about the human trafficking that was still a problem in the muggle world—she was too well read not to be—but she had had the childish belief that with magic, there would not be those kinds of problems.

 

She knew better now, didn’t she?

 

Hermione was pulled from her dark thoughts by the door to the infirmary opening. After a few moments, it shut again without anyone entering. She sighed, knowing who she was waiting for and knowing it was unreasonable to expect them. Madam Pomfrey had been keeping all visitors away and it was long after curfew anyroad. Her boys would not be so utterly stupid as to risk being caught out of the dorms while an unknown monster was on the loose. She startled when her bed dipped under the weight of an invisible person and promptly wanted to smack herself on the forehead. Of course _Ron_ wouldn’t—as much as an immature prat as he can be most of the time, he wouldn’t do anything he _knew_ would destroy his mother. _Harry_ didn’t have any qualms about that; if he felt a friend needed him, he would be there.

 

“Harry?” she whispered instead. Harry responded by flicking his hood back so that his head appeared to be floating. He had a nervous smile on his face as if he wanted to reassure her, but was not certain how he’d be received.

 

“Hey, Hermione,” he replied in a matching whisper. Harry looked over his shoulder towards the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office as if expecting the formidable matron to burst forth at any moment. Finally, he looked back and pushed his glasses up his nose with a single finger. “I was not expecting you to still be up,” he admitted. “You’ve always been the early to bed type before…”

 

“I haven’t been sleeping really well lately,” Hermione confessed. Her eyes prickled with tears and her ears laid back. Her light brown tail twitched restlessly. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.

 

“Hermione, I—I’m not smart like you are,” Harry said haltingly. He seemed unsure of what he was saying but each word rang out and registered as important the same way her Uncle Corey’s had before his death and the way her father’s voice was beginning to as well. It was powerfully confident in an understated way. “But what they are doing—it’s _wrong_. I’ll find a way to save you. I _promise_.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione choked out around a sob. The measure of control she had managed vanished like snow in August. Hope was far too painful right now. “How? It’s impossible!”

 

“Magic,” Harry answered more confidently. “Magic caused the problem. Magic can bloody well fix it!”

 

Hermione was freely crying then and did not even do a token scolding about his language. Harry shifted uncomfortably for a moment before he reached out and pulled the little witch into his arms. Awkwardly, he patted her back a few times before he settled into stroking the pajama-covered surface like one would a cat. That seemed more soothing to the distraught girl than the patting had been. It also helped to center Harry, allowing the stiffness to drain from his wiry form.

 

 _‘I promise,’_ he vowed silently. Neither child noticed the aged Head of Gryffindor watching from the doorway, tears running down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I thought I would mention this because back when this story was originally posted on FFN I got a review mentioning it, despite the fact that the new movie has a lot of people reviewing a certain textbook where this information is referenced. The Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures has three Divisions: Being, Creature, and Spirit. The definitions of each status is a matter of great debate and awards different considerations to a race/group. A group/race's status is not always a matter of logic--it is often a matter of politics, either the group's or the Ministry's. Examples are given that goblins have Being status but centaurs have fought to be maintain their Creature status; and werewolves are awarded a different status dependent upon the moon.
> 
> Just as a general rule of thumb: yes, cats are real beings. They are not a Being, no matter how smart people (myself included) can see them acting. Yes, selling a person, no matter what magical transformation they have gone through, is unethical and highly illogical. This is especially true when one considers the implication that the official's decision would be the different if the underlying person had been a pureblood.


	2. New Truths

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 02: New Truths

-= LP =-

“True nobility is exempt from fear.” – Marcus Tullius Cicero

-= LP =-

 

Neville awoke with a start. He had a moment of disorientation before realizing that he was at Hogwarts, not Thistlewood Manor with Gran. It was a surreality to which he was accustomed. The first few nights he was at the school were always like that. Hogwarts was great, and he was thrilled to have enough magic to attend, but it was not _home_ , like it was to his friend Harry. Well, maybe ‘friend’ was not the right word for what they were now. They both studied with Hermione.

 

Hermione, who was currently in the Hospital Wing with feline features and, if rumors from the train were to be believed, was going to be sold at auction at the end of the year. He was going to ask Harry and Ron about it, but the two boys seemed to be having a row and Neville didn’t want to be drawn into it if he could help it. Things were not as they were supposed to be.

 

A glint of light by the window caught his attention. Harry had shifted his head slightly and the reflection of his glasses made the tiny ray of moon flight glittering in Neville’s eyes shift as well. Curious about what could be keeping the Boy-Who-Lived up at—Neville checked the projection from the crystal clock that he got from Gran for Yule—three in the morning, the Longbottom heir got up and padded over to the window. Harry looked at him as he came close.

 

“Hey, Neville,” the raven-haired boy greeted. “Trouble sleeping?”

 

“Not really…” Neville hesitated only a tiny moment before continuing. “How about you? How are you doing?”

 

Harry didn’t answer immediately, but Neville could tell that he was giving the question serious thought. For the first time in over a year, Neville could really see the potential in the boy which shared his dorm. Maybe it was time. He just watched as the other boy gave a thoughtful frown. When Harry finally spoke, Neville was a bit surprised by the question.

 

“I was reading today about how certain families had a lot of holdings that belonged to the family and not the people in the family, but that doesn’t make sense. How can a family own something but not a person?”

 

“Why were you reading about estate law? Wait…the library has books on estate law?”

 

“There’s an entire legal section. It looks like it doesn’t get used often. Madam Pince had to take me to it.”

 

“Gran mustn’t know about it,” Neville replied as color drained from his face. “She’d start assigning me homework otherwise.” The boy shuddered as was his wont before speaking of Professor Snape. Harry had a suspicion that his fellow lion was terrified of the…well, rather intimidating professor. Not that Harry blamed Neville. The only person that Snape seemed to hate worse than Neville was Harry himself. Before Harry could further pursue this line of thought, Neville was speaking again, this time less shaky. “So why are you reading law books?”

 

“It’s for Hermione,” Harry replied.

 

“So the rumor’s true then? About Hermione being a creature?”

 

“Oh, not you too!”

 

“What did I say?”

 

Neville looked sincerely confused in the faint moonlight pouring through the window behind Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived took a deep centering breath, forcing down the helpless anger that seemed to be his constant companion for the last week of break. Neville wasn’t the face of the Ministry, nor was he Ron, and yelling at the timid boy would just end up making Harry feel guilty later. Hell, he was already feeling guilty. Neville was a good friend, even if they weren’t as close as Harry was with Ron and Hermione.

 

“You sounded like Ron there for a moment. Yes, she’s now considered a creature, but does that really make her less of a person?”

 

“Ron said that?”

 

“Well, no,” Harry admitted reluctantly. “He just made it sound like all she was good for was homework help—and that’s not true! She’s good for loads of things besides homework…” His voice fell off uncertainly. Harry asked himself the question that Ron had thrown at him the other day when they fought about Hermione’s situation. What were those other things? He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost missed Neville’s answer.

 

“You know he wouldn’t necessarily recognize that, don’t you? I mean, I know he’s your friend and all, but he’s…well, he’s a bit thick at times.”

 

Harry sighed. He did know this. It wasn’t that Ron was stupid—he was far smarter than Dudley, after all. It was just that sometimes Ron didn’t quite grasp things in their entirety immediately. There was a phrase that Aunt Petunia used for what Ron did: looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Ron probably did not realize that there could be problems beyond who was going to help them with their homework. Harry snorted as the rage bubbled up again.

 

“They’re gonna _sell_ her, Neville. Whether Ron believes it to be ‘wicked’ or not won’t matter! He said she was like a house elf— _a house elf_.” Harry choked on a sound that may have been a sob or a battle cry. In his mind eye, he saw Dobby beating himself for speaking ill of his master. It always came back to that—or how nonchalantly the little guy had talked about needing to _iron_ his hands. “I was visited by one this summer. He wanted to warn me of danger at Hogwarts, but kept beating himself. Again, I saw him after the Quidditch match. He told me that he ironed his hands and his master didn’t notice because _he’s always doing it_. Hermione…doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”

 

“Harry, house elves…they need a bond with a master to survive. They need to feel useful. Gran says that their magic requires it—“

 

“That doesn’t mean they’re lesser! Just because they serve—that they want to be _useful_ —doesn’t mean they aren’t people!”

 

The words were shouted, practically spat across the small space between the two Gryffindors. The moonlight showed the stunned expression on Neville’s face in amazing clarity. Guilt ate at Harry even though it had to war with anger to do so. Harry closed his eyes and leant against the icy glass of the window. Quietly and quickly, he counted to ten as he struggled to send the red-eyed beast back to its cage at the back of his mind. That little spot inside him that stayed at the Dursleys ached like a sore tooth. He hated _them_ —he did—but he couldn’t seem to escape them, even when he was as far from the world of Privet Drive as he could get.

 

“Harry,” Neville whispered after he was sure that the other boy was calming and that Dean, Ron, and Seamus weren’t going to wake up, “you are right, but—“ He paused as Harry gave him a sharp look and those green eyes seemed to almost glow in the darkness. Neville swallowed once for courage before completing his sentence. “But not everyone sees things that way. A Jarvey talks and can even gesture like a person, but clearly isn’t in the same class as a Being.”

 

“Hermione said the man said she wasn’t a being because she wasn’t a real witch.”

 

“Another common viewpoint,” Neville admitted reluctantly. The words left a sour taste in his mouth. There were reasons people like Madam Umbridge were allowed to do the things she did. “She’s a muggleborn and the Ministry…well, there’s a lot of purebloods working there. We’re mostly sheltered here at Hogwarts because of Dumbledore, but it becomes glaringly apparent at the functions that my Gran has what people think of those without magical beings in their family. _I know_ that Malfoy is full of bunk, but what he spouts is popular in some circles.”

 

“It’s disgusting, and wrong.”

 

“You won’t ever hear me deny that, Harry,” Neville agreed, “but their arguments have merit in some things. There’s a growing number of muggleborns being let into the magical world. Gran says that this is destroying our culture, especially with Magical Traditions no longer being taught at Hogwarts.”

 

“That doesn’t mean that Hermione should be sold as a slave!”

 

“No, it doesn’t,” Neville soothed like he was talking to a small child. Harry gave a sigh that seemed to come from the very tips of his toes. Was he being as childish as he had accused Ron of being? He mentally rolled his eyes. The answer was obvious, even to his slow mind. “Is this why you’ve been reading law books?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Harry admitted. It seemed a bit foolish now, but his determination to do _something_ was almost all consuming. He didn’t know how he was going to handle classes. Hermione would be so disappointed if he didn’t give his all in class, but he had promised to save her. He had _promised_. “I’ve found out that I can’t own her because I’m not the age of majority—whatever age that is in the Wizarding world—“

 

“Seventeen,” Neville interrupted helpfully. Harry pointed at him as if in accusation of something. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Neville smiled at the gesture.

 

“See! The books don’t mention things like that! It just assumes that I know what the age of majority is or what the Magical Creature Act of 1586 or the Protection of Magical Culture Bill of 1968 says. Why would a bill affect law anyway?”

 

“Well, that bill in particular is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s work.”

 

“Wait, what? Voldemort had a bill?”

 

“He was a member of the Wizengamot back when my father was a child. Everybody knows this.”

 

“No, they bloody well don’t!”

 

“It’s common knowledge; basic history, really.”

 

“Basic history? All Binns goes on about is goblin rebellions!”

 

“Binns isn’t the best teacher—the tutor I had during the summer was actually quite interesting.”

 

“You get tutored during the summer? But I thought that we couldn’t do magic…”

 

“Gran hates wasted time,” Neville explained simply. The round-faced boy settled into the empty space on the wide window sill. He spoke in a matter of fact way that made it seem as the situation was obvious without the air of making someone seem stupid that Ron or Uncle Vernon would have had. Even Hermione had a habit of talking down to her audience. That Neville could explain without the attitude of superiority comforted Harry like it had every other time he had explained something to him and Hermione during their study groups. “I have a long way to go to catch up with my father. Gran has been taking care of the estate and all, but she’s not able to be heard on the floor of the Wizengamot despite being the House Regent. She just wants me to be prepared for when I must take my father’s place.”

 

“Neville…you just lost me. What estate? What’s a house regent—that makes it sound like you’re some kind of noble or something. What’s the Wizengamot?”

 

Neville looked at Harry as if Harry was a new and interesting plant. Harry had seen that expression before on Hermione’s face when she faced with a book she hadn’t read before on a topic that she enjoyed. The thought of the bushy-haired witch distracted Harry for a moment. Neville’s voice with its hint of good-natured laughter brought him back to the task on hand.

 

“A House Regent takes responsibility for a House while the Head of House can’t and the Heir is unable or too young. The estate in question is the Longbottom estate which is all the property, including Wizengamot votes, of the House of Longbottom. Thistlewood Manor belongs to the Longbottom family, but my personal items, like, say, my robes, belong to me. It sounds like I’m some kind of noble because I am, or rather will be. I’m the next Lord Blackpool. I’ll take over the comital when I turn twenty-one.”

 

Neville said the title without his normal trace of timidity, and with the same tone that he used to recite information of which he was certain. It was very similar to how he answered Hermione’s quiz questions on Herbology or Charms. This mildly stunned Harry. Where was the boy from last year that couldn’t stand up to Malfoy? Neville must have read his expression because the boy hurried on as if worried about Harry’s reaction to that news.

 

“Don’t think that changes anything, Harry. It’s just a title—well, not _just_ a title. There’re duties that come along with it, as I’m sure you know, but really, right now, it’s only a title. It doesn’t make me better than anyone.”

 

“I didn’t know the wizarding world even had nobility. Do you have a Queen then, like the muggle world?”

 

“No…” Neville looked confused for a moment before continuing. “Not that I’m aware of, at least. All the other nobles are all a part of the Wizengamot which is headed by the Chief Warlock, who is appointed from the members. The Wizengamot is responsible for hearing cases, sentencing criminals, and making laws.” Neville looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think I might have a couple of books on the subject, if you’re interested.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind it. It seems very muddled. I don’t think my idea for helping Hermione is going to work anymore. Can you have an estate and not be a ‘lord’?” Harry only caught the confusion on Neville’s face because he was watching the boy so closely. Neville looked like he was going to say something—he even opened his mouth to start it—but it appeared as if he thought better of it. He was quiet so long that Harry began to nervously pluck at a loose string on his handed down pajamas. Finally, the silence in which Harry was being studied became too much. “Neville?”

 

“Oh, um, yes, I mean, no,” Neville answered after jolting badly at the sound of his name. “No, you can’t, but I don’t see why that matters—to _you_ helping Hermione, that is.”

 

“Well, if I’m not a lord then I can’t have an estate,” Harry explained. There was a tightness in his chest, right above his heart. There had to be _something_ he could do. He had _promised_. He felt slightly queasy from the tension running through his small frame. There had to be something, _anything._ “If I don’t have an estate, I can’t buy Hermione because I can’t participate in the auction until I’m seventeen.”

 

“I…I don’t understand,” Neville said giving Harry that puzzled look again. “Don’t you know?”

 

“Know what?” Harry spoke the words as the slight queasiness he was feeling thickened into a lump of dread. It was the same feeling he got whenever he spotted Dudley and his gang preparing for a game of Harry Hunting or when he had heard that Dumbledore had left the castle last year. It was the same feeling that accompanied him since escorting Hermione to the Hospital Wing on Christmas. Whatever Neville was about to say would forever change things, Harry knew.

 

“You’re the last Potter, Harry,” Neville said slowly, as if he was aware of Harry’s nerves or perhaps as if he were explaining something that he expecting to be unnecessary. Harry’s stomach twisted in anticipation. He already knew that. Of course he did—but why did it _matter_? “You are the heir to at least three lines, one of which is a duchy.”

 

And with those words, the bottom fell out beneath Harry’s world. Things in Harry’s mind shifted as if there was an earthquake. He shivered from a sudden cold. He could feel his lips moving, but they felt thick and unwieldy like the time he was forced to eat stinging nettle by Dudley. Feeling a bit dim, Harry could now recall references by Uncle Vernon to Harry’s father being jobless. Hysteria bubbled up in his throat at the thought of the Dursleys. Would they care about the fact that it was magical nobility if they found out?

 

“Harry? _Harry_!”

 

Neville showed a quickness that Harry would never had accredited him with before then as he managed to jump away from Harry as he vomited. Fortunately, after the initial sickness, Harry felt better and, though he was still shaky and pale, was no longer cold. He could feel the moisture on his cheeks that must have come from either force-induced tears or the clammy sweat that covered his brow now. Neville blinked at him owlishly.

 

“Feeling better?” the other boy queried. Harry spat into the puddle of sick in response. Then he gave Neville a look that was a close cousin to a scowl. Neville rubbed the back of his head with one hand. “Right. Stupid question. You should look on the bright side, you know.”

 

“Oh, and what’s that?” Harry croaked.

 

“It does solve your problem with Hermione.”

 

Harry had no answer to that that didn’t sound particularly snarky. Though Harry knew Neville couldn’t deduct points for cheek like Snape could, it wouldn’t be fair to Neville to say exactly what was going through his head at this exact moment. It seemed as if it were Harry’s destiny to discover huge secrets about himself or his family every few months or so. He had welcomed the knowledge of magic as an explanation of every unexplained thing that had ever happened to him and an escape route from the Dursleys who hated him.

 

‘ _What was next_ ,’ he wondered in the privacy of his own mind. _‘A prophecy?’_

 


	3. Truth within Confusion

****

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 03: Truth within Confusion

-= LP =-

“This above all: to thine own self be true.” – William Shakespheare

-= LP =-

 

“Harry?”

 

Harry heaved a sigh and turned towards the speaker. Classes had started this week, which meant that Madam Pomfrey had been forced to allow Harry to visit Hermione during the day so that he might give the witch her homework. It also meant that it has now been three weeks since the accident—two since Harry and Ron’s falling out. The sight of Ron in the hallway leading away from the Hospital Wing made Harry a little sick and a lot angry, despite the fact that Ron wore the expression of downtrodden dog.

 

“Finally come to your senses?” Harry snapped. A part of him was sadistically gleeful at his first friend’s wince, but the rest…the rest remembered Neville’s reminder. It was just so bloody _hard_. Ron was his first friend. Hermione was his second and desperately needed him right now. He shouldn’t have to choose between them.

 

“Yeah, about that…” Ron’s voice trailed off as he lifted one hand to rub the back of his neck. The wizard looked sheepish, as he normally did after one of Hermione and his bickering matches. Harry felt another sigh filling him, this time one of relief. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to choose. “I was complaining about things to Percy…I didn’t realize, Harry. I honestly didn’t.”

 

Ron’s expression was a bit waterier than Harry was used to from him. It was a bit of a surprise. Ron didn’t cry, not about anything. He was strong and determined. Hermione was the crier of the three of them. But those blue eyes held a sheen to them as if he was about to weep. Harry had a spiteful thought that the Chudley Cannons must have lost another game before he flushed with shame. Luckily, Ron continued, either not noticing Harry’s embarrassment or not caring.

 

“Percy said that she might be—“

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, quickly cutting him off before he could actually say it. Ron looked distinctly greenish. It caused his freckles to appear darker. There was pain in his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they spoke to each other. Harry had seen a similar look in the librarian’s eyes when she explained the words to him. Like a light being turned on, it dawned on Harry that this must be the look of crushed innocence. His friend had grown up, just a little bit.

 

“Harry, I didn’t know,” Ron repeated, desperate for understanding. Harry wanted to give him assurance that he was forgiven, but knew— _knew—_ that it wasn’t him that needed to forgive. Harry may have been the one to argue with Ron, but he was not the hurt party here. So he hardened his heart to the shimmer in Ron’s eyes and raised his chin. He took a fortifying breath and forced the words out.

 

“I’m not the one you should apologize to, Ron. Hermione was your friend and you’ve hurt her when she’s already going through so much.”

 

And then Harry forced himself to turn around and take the long way back to Gryffindor Tower, leaving Ron alone with his misery and useless words. Harry would have preferred to be facing down another troll. But his choice was clear. Between Ron and Hermione, he had to choose the one who needed him right now.

 

Knowing that did not make the choice any easier to bear.

 

-= LP =-

 

Hermione stared down at the wand in her hand. The tight spiral of the wood around the core made it a bit knobby. She had always thought it gave the wand character. She could still remember the old wandmaker telling her that the wand chooses the witch. He had described it almost like the magical focus was a real thinking thing, a concept she had dismissed immediately. A wand was an object. Objects couldn’t think. But now…now, she was rethinking that.

 

Ollivander claimed to remember every wand he ever sold. He certainly remembered Professor McGonagall’s. Hermione wondered what it was like to remember meeting practically everyone in the wizarding world and their wands. Did he judge them by their wands? Was there a predictable way for a wand to pick their companion? What did her wand say about her?

 

“Loss of inhibitions and the loosening of the tongue,” Hermione muttered, reciting a book she had read about magickal woods. It occurred to her that muggle witchcraft might be different, but there was already a lot of correlation between the two and in her current situation, any connection to the world she knew was a comfort. She turned the wand over in her hands, feeling the weight of its inherent magic. “Release of prophetic powers and the revealing of truths.”

 

She considered the wand’s core of dragon heartstring. Ollivander had told her that hers came from a Romanian Longhorn, a breed that she has since learned was growing endangered due to demand for its horns, which was used in potions. She wondered how the dragon had died. Ollivander hadn’t known. Dragon heartstring was known as a powerful core that was prone to be temperamental.

 

Ollivander had described this particular wand as ‘whippy’ and ‘good for both Charms and Transfiguration’. Oh, how the Deputy Headmistress had beamed at that comment. That smile was really the reason that Hermione put so much effort into her classes. Professor McGonagall had told Hermione that she expected great things from her, just because of her wand…the wand that had almost jumped into her hand. Ollivander had said that it reacted to her as soon as she entered the shop.

 

“The wand chooses the witch,” she repeated as she ran her fingers from handle to tip, tracing every twist. The polished wood gleamed, its trademark wood grain making odd patterns on the wand’s surface. If she didn’t focus entirely, she could almost sense its purring response to her idle stroking. “The wand chooses the witch.”

 

Hermione could remember the shock on her mother’s face as Professor McGonagall had explained that all those little odd happenings were magic and then had demonstrated. She could remember the delight on “Aunt” Emmy’s face and the fierce hug that she gave Hermione for the same. Her father’s transition from humorous disbelief to resigned relief was not forgotten either. It explained _so much_ , even as it complicated their lives further than even Uncle Cory’s death had the previous winter. All three had told her to let them worry about practicalities.

 

But Hogwarts had been so lonely. She was used to being the center of three adults’ attention, or at least two after Uncle Cory had passed and her father had to take over the family responsibilities. True, she was used to not having friends and people jeering at her for one reason or the other. Aunt Andy had always told her that strength was measured in ignoring it all and rising above one’s bullies. Hogwarts was only more difficult than primary because there were no comforting arms to hold her when it got really rough or sympathetic ears to listen to her adolescent woes. ‘ _Be friendly and they’d eventually_ _respond_ ’ had been Mum’s words of comfort. Emmy had simply asked if what would be the repercussions from hexing the bullies. Daddy had reminded her that it was not too late to continue her work at Cambridge.

 

The troll changed everything, she admitted to herself. If it weren’t for the troll, she’d never have become friends with Harry and Ron. If not for that friendship, she would have never made the Polyjuice Potion and wouldn’t be in this pickle. The idea, once planted, refused to budge from her thoughts. It felt immensely disloyal, but it still wouldn’t shake loose. Sometimes…sometimes, she wished she had stayed lonely. She had been much safer.

 

 _‘Grangers don’t give up,’_ her father would tell her if he could hear her thoughts, ‘ _and they don’t blame others_.’

 

“The wand chooses the witch,” Hermione repeated. She held the tip and handle of her wand between the index finger and thumb of either hand. Gripping the object like this, she could feel the magical current humming within the focus. Like a dim echo, she could feel the answering call to some nonphysical spot inside her. It was like a little tug…or the curious falling feeling she got whenever Harry gave her that shy perking of his lips that passed as his smile. Honestly, if she hadn’t become Harry and Ron’s friend, yes, she would have been safer and not a cat-girl, but also she wouldn’t have—

 

“Hermione?”

 

She looked up, shocked to be pulled from her almost revelation. Her warm hazel eyes met Ron’s sky blue ones. She had been in the Hospital Wing for coming up on four weeks now and after that first week, the youngest Weasley boy hadn’t come to see her, despite Harry’s nightly, and lately daily, trips. Even Neville had been to see her—he had started coming with Harry on the official trips to deliver homework. Truthfully, she had almost written off Ron, despite how much doing so had hurt her. Ron had a way of just…accepting…things that would shock or disgust her, and sometimes his temper ran away with him before he could think. He was just so…young.

 

“I…Hermione, I’m….”

 

She watched him fidget, still unable to comprehend what he was doing here. Under his tan, Ron looked pale. It gave him a peaky look that didn’t fit him at all. He was standing at the foot of her bed, his left hand nervously rubbing his right elbow. His right hand was clenched and he was tapping it against his thigh in a pattern that belied his agitation. Hermione could not recall any other time when she had seen him so worried.

 

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said in a rush of words that tumbled over each other. “I’ve been a right git and you’d be well shod of me. I’ve been incredibly stupid about this whole thing and as about supportive as a limp noodle. I don’t know what I’d do if it had been me—Mum would probably run out of paper for the Howlers. Can you…do you think…maybe…that you can forgive me?”

 

Hermione looked at him as if she had never seen him before, as if he were perhaps some kind of new book. It occurred to her then that her days at Hogwarts were numbered. After June, she would no longer be able to be the friend she had so desperately craved. There would be no nagging about homework or research into whatever mystery was taking place with Harry at the center of it all. All that Harry would have left is Ron, who thought the great achievement of the world was Quidditch. It was January now. She had until June to forge her legacy…to be a _witch_.

 

“Of course, I do,” she told Ron, even as she reeled from the revelation. It was just so clear to her now. Her place, the one that she had been so worried about in the last year and a half…it was different than she had originally thought it was. She had been so hungry for the approval of teachers, a true teacher’s pet, but grades didn’t matter in the situation, not as much as she had believed they had. “Ron, you have to help me.”

 

“Anything,” Ron replied, a bit dazed by her easy acquiescence to his plea. Usually their fights dragged on for days. That was time she couldn’t afford now, not on this deadline. June loomed like a dark cloud now even as she heard Ollivander’s words echoing in her mind like a powerful mantra. In quick words and a no-nonsense tone, she outlined her plan. Ron was confused at first, but soon was nodding along with her. When he left to go to dinner, Hermione found herself playing with her wand again. This time there were no doubts in her mind.

 

 _‘The wand chooses the witch,_ ’ she thought, ‘ _but the witch chooses the magic_.’


	4. Old Truths in New Light

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 04: Old Truths in New Light

-= LP =-

“Books! The best weapons in the world.” – The Doctor, _Doctor Who_

-= LP =-

 

Neville and Harry were on their way back to the Tower from visiting Hermione when they heard the noise. For a moment, the pair stood frozen. Harry’s heart ceased beating in anticipation of the chilling voice that had haunted him. He hadn’t told Neville that he was hearing voices in connection to the attacks and a perverse part of him was curious whether Neville could handle the information. Though it occasionally seemed like he was holding back on certain things, Neville seemed to be comfortable in his own skin concerning three topics: Herbology, Charms, and magical culture. Then the sounds filtering down the hall sorted themselves into rather colorful cursing and girlish sobs.

 

Careful not to be seen, the two Gryffindors peeked around the corner. Harry immediately recognized the corridor leading to Myrtle’s bathroom. Filch was the source of the colorful cursing. The cause of his vexation was also rather plain. Myrtle had flooded the hall again. Harry ignored Neville’s fidgeting as he waited for the caretaker to leave.

 

“Come on,” Harry murmured after Filch had stomped off to get a mop to clean up. Neville didn’t protest like Ron would have and Harry didn’t feel as embarrassed by his curiosity. Myrtle’s sobs were even louder once they were in the loo with the ghost. Hesitantly, Harry called out her name. The ghost shot out of the bend of her toilet, a dark gray flush upon her pale cheeks.

 

“What do you want? Come to throw something at me as well?”

 

“I…I was worried. Why would I throw something at you? Are you alright?”

 

Moaning Myrtle gave him a scrutinizing look as if she didn’t quite believe him. Then the flush darkened and spread. She gave Harry a shy smile like the ones that she had given him while Hermione was brewing the Polyjuice potion.

 

“Oh, it was terrible,” she assured Harry in a dramatic voice, “simply ghastly. Someone threw a book at me!”

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that she wouldn’t be hurt by someone throwing a book, but Neville’s lessons on tact saved him in time. Harry could imagine the kind of fit that Myrtle would pitch had he actually spoke the words. Flooded bathrooms would be the least of the problems she could cause. Instead, Harry made a noncommittal noise and posed a query about who threw it in the first place.

 

“Well, I don’t know, do I? I was just sitting in the U-bend thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head! See—that’s it over there. It got washed out…”

 

Harry looked where she was pointing. A small, thin book lay under a sink by the door. The cover was faux leather that had clearly seen better days. Water glistened and soaked its pages. Harry moved forward to pick it up for a closer look, only to be stilled by Neville grabbing the back of his robes.

 

“What?” asked Harry.

 

“I’m aware that you are muggle-raised, Harry,” Neville said in the same tone he used when explaining a backward codicil of some ancient law, “but books can be dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?” Harry laughed, half expecting Neville to join him. “It’s a _book_ , Neville.”

 

“Magic, remember?”

 

Harry looked at the soggy book lying on the floor. It certainly didn’t look dangerous. He looked back at Neville and raised an eyebrow like he had seen someone on the telly do. Neville shook his head and pulled out his wand.

 

“There’s a spell that checks for dark magic,” Neville said as he raised the smooth wand. Harry bit back a snicker. It was usually Hermione that had a spell for everything. The idea of the shy and bumbling Neville knowing the necessary spell struck Harry as a bit funny. Neville appeared aware of his amusement for he gave Harry a half grin and shook his head again. “Alright, you’ve had your laugh. Now can I cast?”

 

“Sure, so I’ll just…” Harry shuffled out of the way and watched as Neville waved his wand in a figure eight that ended with a sharp jab at the book and word that sounded closer to Gaelic than the Latin-ish of a normal spell. The book twitched as its outline grew blurry. Neville had a faintly surprised look on his round face.

 

“Huh,” Neville said, “that’s very…I’ve never seen that reaction before…”

 

“Have you tried the spell much?”

 

“Well, no, but…”

 

Neville looked at Harry. Harry could read the confusion on his friend’s face. The last couple of weeks had really shone Harry another side to Neville, even if it was mostly spent in the library when Harry was not at Quidditch practice. There were times that Harry felt almost as close to Neville as he did to Ron, even occasionally like he was closer. It was a strange feeling that Harry rarely thought about because it made him feel uncomfortable. Neville’s expression shifted under Harry’s scrutinizing from surprised to wary.

 

“I think we should get a professor, Harry.”

 

“What? Why? Because of a blurry outline?”

 

“Dangerous, Harry, remember?”

 

“Fine,” Harry agreed reluctantly. It still had his misgivings about the seriousness of the situation. It was a _book_ , after all. “Let’s see what McGonagall says.”

 

-= LP =-

 

Professor McGonagall was not alone in her office when Harry and Neville arrived. Percy was with her. Harry was tempted to describe this fact with words that Dudley and his gang used when there were no adults around to hear. Whatever the Head of Gryffindor and the prefect were talking about had obviously been rather important because Percy was looking like he did whenever Mrs. Weasley got onto him for stuff and Professor McGonagall looked about as happy as a wet cat. Even in his head, Harry groaned at the pun.

 

“What is it, Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall all but snapped. It was close though. Harry fought against the urge to flinch and stood straighter instead.

 

“We found this book, ma’am,” Harry replied, “and Neville cast this spell to detect dark magic and the book got blurry—“

 

“Which spell did you use, Mr. Longbottom?”

 

Her clipped words broke no argument and Neville answered with only a small stutter. The professor immediately demanded the book. Neville seemed relieved to be rid of it even though he insisted on being the one who carried the dratted thing. Harry watched as Professor McGonagall repeated Neville’s wand movements from earlier. This time Harry noticed that it was not so much a blur as it was a thin aura of the exact same color as the cover of the book.

 

Every trace of anger melted out of the Transfiguration professor’s face and body. She dropped the book on her desk. The stern professor appeared to be generally worried as she turned on her heel, her wand moving even as her body twisted. A cat sprung from the tip of the wand, all aglow like moonlight and like moonlight, it was coolly comforting. It vaguely reminded Harry of the light that shone through the cracks around his cupboard door. McGonagall spoke sharply to the cat and it sped off without regard to walls or gravity.

 

“What was that? It was…” Harry couldn’t come up with an adequate description for the silver tabby.

 

“That, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall replied anyway, “is a Patronus.”

 

“We’re gonna learn that, right?” Harry asked eagerly. The thought of learning that spell…Harry didn’t understand, but it made him happy in the same way that flying did. The idea was as interesting as the mystery of the Philosopher’s Stone was last year. Professor McGonagall was watching him with an oddly indulgent expression on her face.

 

“The Patronus Charm is post N.E.W.T. level, Mr. Potter,” she said. “It’s not taught at Hogwarts at this time. Now, Mr. Weasley, please escort Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom to Gryffindor Tower and _please_ remember what we’ve discussed.”

 

“Yes, professor,” Percy replied before shuffling Harry and Neville out of her office obediently. No one spoke, but as they rounded the corner towards the moving staircases, they only narrowly avoided Professor Dumbledore who was wearing a robe reminiscent of a sunset over the Black Lake during winter. The headmaster gave their little group a sharp nod as he continued moving. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had just happened.

 

-= LP =-

 

Madam Pomfrey ran out excuses to keep Hermione in the Hospital Wing a few days into February. Nervous and painfully aware of her new features, Hermione entered the Great Hall almost unnoticed. Harry saw her lingering inside the doors and waved her over with an enthusiastic grin. Screwing up her courage, Hermione made her way over to her friends. Her downward-tilted ears were the only sign of her agitation.

 

She nearly got up and ran away as the whispers spread throughout the Great Hall as people noticed her sitting beside Harry. Ron got up from further down the table and slid into the free seat across from Neville who was on Harry’s other side. _‘Gryffindor,’_ she reminded herself. Her fingers curled into fists, the claws biting slightly into her palms. ‘ _You’re a Gryffindor, brave and true. You can do this. Remember the plan.’_

“Hi,” Hermione greeted more evenly than she felt at the moment. Harry reached for her hand and gave it a brief squeeze of reassurance. Between that small gesture and a deep breath, she felt better about returning. She briefly met Ron’s gaze before Lavender Brown caught her attention to discuss the latest Transfiguration essay. The conversation carried the small group out of the Great Hall where Lavender broke off to walk with Parvati up to Charms.

 

The following day was so steadily normal that some knotted feeling within Hermione loosened. There was a tension between Harry and Ron, a kind of stony silence that bespoke of a fight, but neither struck out at the other in her presence. She could tell that it was a near thing a couple of times. Strangely, Neville seemed to be the one holding back Harry. After one of the times, Hermione met the timid boy’s gaze. He only gave her a slow nod in acknowledgement.

 

When the final class released, it was a relief. The tension between the boys could almost be tasted. As it was, the sense of danger in the air made her fur stand on end. That wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t also affect her hair. Parkinson hadn’t stopped sniggering since the start of Potions. When the bell finally sounded, Hermione wasted no time guiding their little group to the nearest empty classroom outside of Slytherin territory.

 

“Hermione,” Harry remarked after the door closed behind Neville, “what’s wrong?”

 

“Harry, we’ve been through a lot together,” Hermione opened, the words making Harry’s brow scrunch as he watched her begin to pace. The motion reminded him of the tiger in the zoo he went to for Dudley’s eleventh birthday. He acknowledged her with a cautious nod. “We both know that You-Know-Who is not really gone. He’s come after you twice now, once when you were a baby and once last year.”

 

“I was only incidental last year—“

 

“You were only incidental when you were a baby as well,” Hermione interrupted. Harry considered her words, a feeling of horrified shock filtering into his thoughts. She was right, of course. His parents had gone into hiding because Voldemort had wanted them to join him and they refused. Everyone knew that. His wide eyes met hers and she gave him a sharp nod. “So far your involvement has been happenstance…”

 

“But it won’t always be that way,” Harry finished. Hermione gave him another nod. Why hadn’t he seen it before? It seemed so obvious now. “What can I do? I’m only twelve—I can’t even do magic outside of Hogwarts yet. I barely know how to transfigure a guinea pig into a purse! There’s no way that I can defeat Voldemort!”

 

“That’s why we need to train,” Ron said, finally joining the conversation. Neville nodded his agreement to the plan. Even Harry couldn’t deny what Ron was saying. Hermione reached into her satchel. After a moment of rooting around in it, she pulled out a calendar book like the kind that Harry’s aunt kept on the desk in the parlor.

 

“I have drawn up a schedule. It will mean a great deal of work, but if we study hard, I believe that we can work ahead with no problem,” she told the boys. Harry glanced at Ron, only to find that he didn’t looked surprised by this announcement.

 

“I’m not gonna whine about it,” Ron said sheepishly, noticing Harry’s look. Harry could not keep the surprise from his face. “I’m really not. Hermione explained about her plan days ago when I apologized for being such a thick-headed git.”

 

“You apologized?”

 

When Ron replied to Harry’s question with a nod, Harry broke into a wide grin. Ron returned the grin in full measure. Just like that, their argument was settled. If Hermione could accept it, then it was good enough for Harry. Hermione recalled their focus as she began to explain her schedule. It was almost like normal again.

 

 _Almost_.


	5. New Faces

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 05: New Faces

-= LP =-

“My family is my strength and my weakness.” – Aishwarya Rai Bachchan

-= LP =-

 

Hermione blotted her notes on their latest study session, pleased to see that they were a couple of weeks ahead of the schedule that she had set. In the month since their quartet had decided to do the lessons, they had progressed through the entirety of the first year syllabus and would now be starting the review of this year material. However, this brought forth the issue of obtaining the syllabi from the years beyond.

 

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron grossed. “We’re gonna be late for dinner.”

 

Harry looked up from his book with an expression that could sour milk. While there did seem to be a truce between the two boys, Harry had been a tad bit less tolerant of Ron’s need to fill his stomach at every opportunity over using any extra time to study. Lately, it was rare to see Harry without a book in hand. Hermione hadn’t figured out what he was studying as she had other concerns that seemed more pressing, but whatever it was, Neville seemed to be encouraging, so it couldn’t be altogether bad. Neville was a very dependable sort and often wiser than many would give him credit for being.

 

“Dinner’s not for another fifteen minutes,” Neville commented, not breaking stride in his practice of wand forms, “ _and_ it’s not mandatory for everyone to be there at the start of it. Let Hermione work in peace. Why don’t you come here and practice with me instead? It will keep your mind off your stomach.”

 

“It is okay, Neville,” Hermione countered. She rolled up the last scroll and began putting it all away in her carryall. “I’m done here. Let’s get going.”

 

The bookworm pulled out her Charms syllabus from her bag as the boys began to move towards the door leading out of the abandoned classroom they were using for their lessons. She was so busy mentally calculating how long she had before going to Professor Flitwick became a necessity for further progress that she collided into Ron’s back when he stopped in the doorway. The automatic apology died in her throat when she looked under his arm at what had halted him. A pair of Ravenclaws were talking in the hallway. Well, they had been talking, but now they were staring at the quartet in the doorway.

 

“Hello, Ronald,” the blonde one greeted. Her silver eyes moved over the rest of them quickly. Hermione recognized her as the first year that had fainted during the Sorting at the start of this term. They often jockeyed for the prime tables in the Library. Hermione had the suspicion that Madam Pince liked the other girl better because she was quieter than Hermione’s boys. “How is your sister?”

 

“She’s fine, Luna,” Ron said absently. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time that she had seen the two siblings actually speaking, a thought that struck her suddenly. Luna looked similarly doubtful about Ron’s claim. “How’s your parents?”

 

“Oh, they’re great.” Luna beamed at him. “They’re off on a holiday to celebrate their anniversary. They should be back in time for Beltane, though. It is hard to believe that I’m going to miss the faire this year.”

 

“Yeah, they always have good food,” Ron agreed. Seemingly done with that line of conversation, Luna turned a knowing gaze to Neville briefly before focusing on Hermione. Hermione tensed but the other girl did not flick her eyes upward towards the chocolate-colored ears atop her head. The relief of that lack was immense. Was this how Harry felt when people always looked for his scar?

 

“Hello, Hermione Granger,” Luna said airily as if speaking to a dream. “You look well with fur.”

 

“Luna,” her companion interrupted as he placed a restraining hand on his fellow Ravenclaw’s arm, “you shouldn’t mention her malady. It isn’t polite.” He then turned towards the Gryffindors and gave a slight bow. His blue eyes assessed them in the same motion with a cold efficiency that would have been at home on an older Slytherin’s face. He paid particular attention to Harry’s fidgeting stance before focusing upon Neville. “Heir Longbottom, how pleasant it is to run into you. Have you been well?”

 

Neville squeezed past Ron on the other side. He mimicked the Ravenclaw with the same slight bow, little more than an inclination of the head and shoulders. When he straightened, he stood with a confidence born of years of practice. None of the shy boy that she remembered seemed present. For all purposes, he now bore a great resemblance to her cousin Jeffery.

 

“I have been well, Heir Silverhale. Have you been well?”

 

As the two boys continued to go back and forth through what seemed like a ritual greeting of some sort, Hermione watched as if it were a football match. As she spent most of the year at Hogwarts, she only rarely saw the formal small talk that came when two members of the noble class met. It was only required at the formal functions in which, as a thirteen-year-old, she was too young to participate. Neville had just asked after the other boy’s grandfather when Ron interrupted.

 

“Who bloody cares about that? We’re going to be late for _dinner_ ,” the ginger grumbled. Silverhale’s upper lip twitched like he had almost sneered at the foolishness of a hungry Weasley. Neville pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. Harry, who had been watching the exchange just as avidly as Hermione, groaned aloud at his friend’s audacity. Hermione gave Ron a sharp pinch in the arm.

 

“I apologize for the outburst from my companion, Heir Silverhale,” Neville recovered amidst Ron’s outraged sputtering. “We just had a very active review session and were just on our way to the Great Hall.”

 

“Oh, it’s all right, Heir Longbottom,” Luna forgave for both of them. “We were headed in the same direction. Perhaps we could accompany you on your journey so that we might part on friendlier terms.”

 

“Miss Lovegood, nothing would please me more,” Neville replied. He gave Silverhale a nervous look before offering his arm to the blonde. The girl looked surprised while the boy seemed to be doing some very quick thinking. With Neville and Luna leading the way, the group began to move towards the Great Hall.

 

“So, I see that St. Brutus’ has been good for you, Potter,” Silverhale commented dryly after a few steps. Harry’s face flushed, though Hermione couldn’t tell if it was from anger or shame. Hermione’s mind began to whirl as she filed the information away and tried to remember where she had heard the reference.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“I’m wounded, Potter,” the Ravenclaw said smoothly. “We went to school together. Don’t you remember?”

 

“Yeah, I remember you. You’re that kid that beat up Dudley a few years ago,” Harry replied, no less suspiciously. “That doesn’t explain how you know about _that name_.”

 

“Well, I had suspicions about you,” Silverhale acknowledged. His cold eyes glanced at Harry, as if measuring something on the other boy’s face. “Thus when you failed to return to school last year, I did some investigation. Your aunt is…very unpleasant, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

 

Harry stopped. It was more of a freeze, as if he were prey before a predator. The subtle static that Harry always had when he was especially nervous filled the area around him. It made Hermione’s hair lift off the back of her neck, and for the first time, her nose twitch. Ron looked as if he were building up a head of steam as well. Neville’s face had hardened in a way that it did when he was about to do something fierce. Luna was watching Harry with an unfocused gaze and had gone onto the balls of her feet as if ready to hurry to him.

 

“You talked to my aunt?”

 

“Briefly,” Silverhale replied in a calculating fashion. He seemed to make a decision based upon something that he must have found in the Gryffindor’s face. “Magic was not mentioned, nor were other appellations that I’ve heard from Dudley over the years. I am a Ravenclaw, Potter, and I am not blind, no matter how young we were. For my own peace of mind, I had to check. I hope that you understand my invasion of your privacy was not ill-intended.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered, as Silverhale’s implication hit home. Harry never did talk about his relatives, except to say that they didn’t get along, but was that all there was to that? Hermione had noticed that Harry didn’t seek out affection, and last year when she had hugged him, he hadn’t know what to do in return. Ron had mentioned his rescue of Harry last summer, but she thought that he was just exaggerating things. It wasn’t uncommon for muggles to have bars on the windows of their houses. But Harry was shorter than the other Gryffindor boys, and much thinner. Some people are just thin, right? His slightness of frame took on a sinister air under this thought process.

 

“Look, it’s not what you’re thinking,” Harry said quickly. “It was never as bad as all that—“

 

“Harry,” Neville interrupted. Harry snapped his mouth shut so fast that his teeth clicked. Harry looked at the normally quiet boy who seemed to have taken an edge of steel to his aura. His green eyes were so wide that Hermione was slightly convinced that they were about to pop out of his head. Neville then voiced a single word as if it were a command. “Don’t.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry tried again. Neville looked at him steadily until Harry dropped his gaze to the ground before his feet. If Hermione had not been standing right next to him, she wouldn’t have heard the desperate whisper as if he were trying to reassure himself. “I’m fine.”

 

“On the behalf of my fellow peer, I thank you for your concern,” Neville formally replied to Silverhale, his eyes still watching Harry. “I also hope you understand that this is a private matter, especially considering his status as the Boy-Who-Lived. I ask on his behalf that further _investigation_ be halted and any documentation that you may have be handed over to either myself or Mr. Potter as soon as possible for disposal.”

 

“I believe that can be managed,” Silverhale said after a moment of stroking his chin, “for a price, of course.” Neville looked like he might actually hex the younger boy and Ron’s face matched his hair as he approached the explosion. Luna touched a hand to Neville’s left arm, causing the boy to glance at her before turning his gaze back to the other Ravenclaw. “Nothing much,” Silverhale reassured them. “Just information for information, and an action for an action.”

 

“What is this price, Silverhale?”

 

“I want to know what you have been studying so frantically for the last month.”

 

“Is that all?” Hermione asked incredulously. “I’ll answer that one. We’re reviewing spells. We just finished last year’s curriculum. I have a schedule for us to begin working on this year’s next session.”

 

“Oh, really? Is that all? One would wonder what the rush is.”

 

“Why should we tell _you_?” Ron demanded. “You should just mind your own business!”

 

“Ron!”

 

“Don’t you ‘Ron’ me, Hermione! We don’t know him, but he’s asking personal questions! It’s not right! We’ve asked him to be quiet about it and he’s trying to make a bloody deal like a slimy Slytherin!”

 

“I have it on good authority that the only one who is truly slimy is Malfoy,” Silverhale commented dryly as if Ron was not yelling at the top of his voice. If anything, Ron’s outburst seemed to amuse the Ravenclaw. He was doing the chin stroke thing again. “But Bilius has a point. These are rather personal questions that I am asking. Though his lack of etiquette is showing through if he believes that only Slytherins barter. Heir Longbottom, does Miss Granger speak for you in this regard?”

 

“I will verify that what she said of our activities is true, and further comment that she would know best what our status is as she is the one who is organizing this.”

 

“Very well,” Silverhale said. His voice sounded almost as if he were disappointed in Neville’s reply, but strangely, also as if he had just been told a secret. “In which case, I wish to join you. Review is always good for one’s health, especially since this seems to be a more intensive study group than those currently available through Ravenclaw. I, too, am currently that far into my studies, as are my normal study partners, whom I would hope could also be invited.”

 

“I’m not certain if that is wise,” Neville faltered. He glanced between the individuals that made up the two groups. Silverhale tapped impatiently at his chin. Hermione appeared to be thinking faster than Neville had ever seen her do except outside of finals last year. Harry continued to glare at his feet as if he were trying not to interrupt. Ron had no such problems.

 

“NO WAY! You can’t be considering this! It’s beyond stupid! He should just mind his own business! What right does he have to demand to join our study group?! Hermione, tell him!”

 

“Well,” the bookworm hedged, “it would be a good addition to our study group to have some members of the other Houses. I could use help with the research and …” Hermione’s bottom lip trembled briefly before her face hardened with resolve. Her chin raised as if to defy the forces currently ruling her life. The words that she refused to voice echoed between them. Ron deflated faster than a bubble bursting. He still didn’t seem happy, but he didn’t seem to want to argue anymore either.

 

Silverhale made a humming noise before extending his left hand to Harry who looked at a loss of what to do with it. After a heartbeat of staring at the limb dumbly, the Boy-Who-Lived raised desperate eyes to Neville. Neville gestured briefly towards his palm. Whatever the message meant, Harry seemed to understand for he reached out with his matching hand to touch his palm to the offered palm. Silverhale’s right hand covered Harry’s left so that the hand was trapped. Neville shifted his weight, drawing a crooked smirk from the Ravenclaw.

 

“Alexander Silverhale of Stormsword,” the Ravenclaw intoned without releasing Harry’s hand. He then turned them both towards the petite blonde standing close to Neville. “This is Miss Luna Lovegood of Lovegood. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Harold Potter of Letum. May the Lady smile upon you and yours.”

 

“Er,” Harry stumbled. His eyes darted back to Neville who gave him a simple nod. “It is a pleasure to meet you, too. Blessings upon you and yours?” Harry didn’t seem quite certain of the words that he was saying, but Silverhale seemed pleased nonetheless. He released Harry’s hand and gave him a bow that was deeper than one he had given Neville earlier. Luna dropped into a curtsey with her chin tucked into her chest. Even as the girl was rising, Silverhale was offering the same gesture to Neville who pursed his lips but shook the hand.

 

“Neville Longbottom of Blackpool,” the Gryffindor stated. “It is a pleasure to make a better acquaintance of the heir of Lord Julius. My grandmother speaks of him often. You live up to his reputation.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Silverhale agreed as if they were sharing a joke, “His Lordship speaks of the Lady Regent frequently, and with great _enthusiasm_. I hear tales of their verbal sparring often. I look forward to having another option with whom to talk of duty and honor.” His gaze drifted to Harry’s confused face. Though his face smiled, his eyes remained as cold and hard as ice. When he next spoke, his voice as a sibilant purr. “Perhaps Mr. Potter would appreciate joining our discussions?”

 

“Perhaps,” Neville agreed in a tone that promised nothing. “But I believe that we’ve loitered here long enough. It would be a pity to waste a perfectly good meal in a drafty hallway.” Then he offered his arm to Luna again. The girl seemed grateful to take it. With careful movements, the pair headed off, forcing the others to follow or be left behind.


	6. Sorting Allegiances

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 06: Sorting Allegiances

-= LP =-

“But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.” – William Shakespeare

-= LP =-

 

Filius Flitwick was used to being underestimated. Too many of the students that he taught looked down upon his mixed heritage and the resulting short stature for this not to be true. If asked, he would admit to playing upon the assumption that he was a bit of an idiot. The lack of people who saw through his act was perhaps one of his greatest disappointments, no matter how useful the act has been over the years. It was reassuring when students sought him out for special recognition, such as the Silverhale boy with his trading cards at the beginning of term or a certain muggleborn who had wanted to apprentice to him over a decade ago. Now it was Miss Granger’s turn to seek him out, and Filius would be the first to admit that he had been expecting her since her release from the Hospital Wing. Her request, however, was not what he had been expecting.

 

“Can you please repeat that, Miss Granger?”

 

“I would like your course syllabi through N.E.W.T.s, Professor,” Hermione stated simply, as if she was merely an overachieving student rather than what Filius knew her to be: the person stepping up to train the Boy-Who-Lived. Filius stroked his chin with the tip of his wand before flicking its tip towards the still open door. Hermione started but quickly composed herself. Filius stepped from his stack of books onto his desk to get closer to her.

 

“Miss Granger, I cannot simply hand over my syllabi, and there is no way that you will be able to gain any benefit of them beyond the end of term, no matter how quickly your little study group progressed through the first year spellwork. Many of the spells are dangerous if there are any mistakes. What is the rush, Miss Granger?”

 

“Professor…” Her tone was soft as if she was being choked with sorrow. Filius knew what the rush was. How could he not, after all? Every adult in the castle knew that they were losing the muggleborn witch at the end of the year due to bigotry and intolerance. It was a waste of a particularly bright child, and it was a fate that was almost his at one point. Halfbreeds, whatever their origin, were reviled among the purebloods who ran Britannia. His contacts among the goblins of Gringotts would keep him informed of the girl’s ultimate fate. Perhaps her owner would not be too cruel.

 

“I will make you an offer, Miss Granger,” Filius said quickly, trying to ignore his discomfort towards the fact that she would be lost to them. “I will grant you the syllabus of each year only after all of your study group have demonstrated to me that they are competent with the previous year’s spells. Closer to the end of term, we will revisit this deal in preparation for—well, the continuation beyond your tutoring.”

 

“But I need the third year list to begin working on the schedule!”

 

“Already? But I was under the impression that you and your partners were working on the first year spells. You couldn’t have possibly worked through them so quickly.”

 

“We finished with those a couple of days ago, Professor,” Hermione said humbly. Filius rocked onto the balls of his feet. Oh, what prize she was. Perhaps he should look into seeing if he could purchase the girl himself, on behalf of the Brotherhood. What a fine teaching assistant she would make! It would also prevent harm from coming to her.

 

“I expect all of you in my classroom after dinner tonight, for testing.”

 

“Harry has practice after dinner tonight, Professor, and we’ve recently added two new people, but I don’t know how to contact them about schedule changes like that. We were planning on meeting in one of the study rooms off the Library after classes this afternoon.”

 

“Hmm,” Filius commented neutrally. If the Gryffindors had added the two Ravenclaw first years that they had entered the Great Hall with last night, then this was promising to be a very interesting alliance indeed. He was not as disconnected from his House as they thought he was. He knew about the hazing that Miss Lovegood had gone through until Mr. Silverhale had put his foot down on the matter. Both Silverhale and Lovegood were extremely creative in their revenge once they began to seek it, and both had shown that their grasp of magical concepts surpassed their peers’ by several years. A sense of loss filled him then as it dawned on him again just what Hogwarts was losing in Miss Granger, especially since she had just discovered study partners outside of her own House. Minerva may bristle at the thought, but Gryffindors were not known for their knowledge.

 

“Perhaps this weekend would be better then,” he allowed finally. “Gryffindor practices in the morning on Saturday, correct?” At her nod, he continued, “Then I will see all of you after lunch. Please bring your notes and schedule, Miss Granger. Now, you had better get along to Transfiguration before you bring any more of Professor McGonagall’s ire down upon you. Oh, and Miss Granger?”

 

“Yes, Professor?”

 

“I would like to see you turn in at least something on the assignments I give in class, even if it is only a few paragraphs of explanation rather than the full length I assigned. I understand that your current drive is your study sessions with Mr. Potter, but the assignments are for clarification purposes and safety precautions. It doesn’t have to be much and you probably write more in your notes.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Teachers talk, Miss Granger,” Filius announced with a grin at her shock. “I believe that the only ones who have truly connected your lack of homework with your study sessions are myself and Professor Snape, though he is about to remove you from his class completely because of it.”

 

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

 

“As I had guessed from observing you,” Filius agreed with a nod. Then he made shooing motions with his hands as he opened the door with a wave of his wand. “Just think about what I said, Miss Granger, and get along now. You should have just enough time to get to Transfiguration if you go now. Remember to avoid the central stairs or you will be late.”

 

“Thank you, Professor.”

 

“Think nothing of it, child. Think nothing of it.”

 

-= LP =-

 

“I want in,” Vivian Selwyn announced as she dropped her books onto the study table that she shared every Friday with two first year Ravenclaws. Her childhood friend merely raised an eyebrow at her as he shifted his notes on physics back into their notebook. She would have growled in frustration had she been less than a lady. Growling was for commoners, after all. She was bred better than that. Instead, she tossed her thick braid over her shoulder and pinned him with her blue-green eyes. “Do not pretend to misunderstand me, Alex. I know that you have somehow managed to become a part of Granger’s study group. I find the fact that you did not immediately include me very distressing. The potential alliance that this represents is beyond merely playground politics, and you know it. I want in on whatever plot you have working. Longbottom alone would be a boon, but Longbottom _and_ Potter? I want in, damn it.”

 

“Hello, Vivian,” Alex finally replied. “I had a nice day. Thank you for asking. You will never believe who is meeting us today for our study session. I really cannot take credit, however. It was Luna who insisted that we leave the Tower early and take a back way to the Great Hall.”

 

“Lovegood netted them? _Lovegood_?”

 

“That’s me,” Luna declared as she returned to the secluded table with an armload of books. She returned Vivian’s shocked expression with a dreamy smile of her own. The dishwater blonde had learned quickly that Vivian had low expectations of everyone outside of the Selwyn family so the expressed surprise over Luna gaining without much effort something that Vivian had desired since the beginning of her first year did not insult Luna nearly as much as some would have expected. Slytherins tended to get mired down in their plots; that is, if they were not what Vivian insisted was proof that there was such a thing as _too_ pure. “Oh, and I wouldn’t badger Alexander too much. He was the one who insisted that we meet in the Library today so as to include you.”

 

“It should also mute Weasley. Granger probably already knows who my other study partner is and Longbottom most certainly does,” Alex added.

 

“And Potter?” Vivian questioned as she sank into her seat. Alex sighed but continued to trade out his textbooks from the muggle ones that he had been studying to the more magical ones.

 

“He is currently an unknown quantity. Longbottom has been working on civilizing him; that much is clear. However, my impression from our shared childhood in Surrey, such as it was, is that he was not completely aware of his heritage prior to coming to Hogwarts, let alone his standing among the magical community.”

 

“You must be joking,” Vivian challenged with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He is perhaps one of the most powerful people in the whole of Britannia. How could he be almost completely ignorant of that?”

 

“It might be an act, but I doubt that a Gryffindor is good enough to fool the entire school.”

 

“He was nearly a Hatstall,” Vivian reminded the group as if that proved her theory. She smirked at the shaking of their heads. Ravenclaws were so narrow-minded sometimes.

 

“What’s a Hatstall?”

 

Vivian turned in her seat to look at the questioner. Her sharp retort died on her tongue when she saw that it was none other than Hermione Granger who was leading her little pride of study partners. The two girls stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the secret challenge and assessment of powerful witches everywhere. Mindful of the scholastic goals of their current location, Vivian was careful to keep her magic tightly contained. It was not as if Granger would be a threat for much longer, given her subhuman status. As a temporary ally, the catgirl would be useful; that was a given. However, it did not occur to Vivian to throw the challenge. After all, Selwyns did not bow to lesser born magicals, Hatstalls or no. Finally, Granger’s cat ears laid back and the girl shook her head. Vivian smiled before giving the other witch an answer.

 

“It is a witch or wizard who takes a rather long time to be Sorted. While rare, it is a sign of a complex personality. There are _some_ who believe that Hatstalls are destined to be important and powerful people, because nearly every witch or wizard who makes the history books were a Hatstall. They are most certainly people to keep an eye upon if one wants to do anything particularly ambitious.”

 

“And do you?” This question came from Potter himself who had been lingering towards the back of the group but now moved forward to better watch the group seated at the table. Vivian raised one eyebrow in question. Potter blushed but refused to look away from her gaze. A smirk twitched her lips in approval. Oh, yes, this was someone she could use. How to approach him now that she was sure of her welcome? Quickly, she mentally examined different tactics and discarded them. He was a muggle-raised Gryffindor, she finally concluded; there really was only one way to get what she wanted from him.

 

“I am highly ambitious, Potter,” she announced honestly. “I plan on becoming the Minister of Magic someday or perhaps the Chief Warlock. Britannia was once a place to be proud of. It is my plan to make it so again.” She kept her tone even and her eyes locked with his as she continued. “An association with you would help me, Potter. Your acclaimed status aside, you must know that you would be quite a catch as an ally.” She let her gaze flick to Granger who seemed to be growing more uncomfortable during the speech before she refocused on Potter. “If I am not mistaken, I believe the benefit could be mutual.”

 

“Harry, you can’t trust her,” Weasley declared, less venomously than Vivian had been expecting. Perhaps Potter was not the only one that Longbottom was civilizing. Only through her iron will did Vivian manage not to roll her eyes at the sheer stupidity of this particular Weasley. She could not suppress the urge to sneer, however. “She’s a _Slytherin_.”

 

“And you are a Gryffindor, _Bilius_ ,” she replied. Vivian sniffed and managed to look down her nose at the redhead despite being seated and therefore lower than him. “I am willing to overlook your unfortunate House affiliation, however. A Hogwarts House is for seven years. I am proposing a more lasting alliance.” Vivian looked at Longbottom who appeared to be lost in thought rather than completely lost as Granger was or gathering a head of steam as Weasley was. Luna drawing her breath made Vivian look at her, but the blonde was not looking at anyone in particular; her pupils had nearly taken over her irises. Vivian shared a look with her betrothed before rising from her seat. Alex sighed but followed her lead.

 

“May I introduce my betrothed, the Lady Vivian Selwyn of Corsecwene? Lady Selwyn, may I introduce Heir Harold Potter of Letum; Heir Neville Longbottom of Blackpool; Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley, grandson of Sir Septimus Weasley; and Miss Hermione Granger, muggleborn? You have already met Miss Luna Lovegood of Lovegood.”

 

Longbottom put a restraining hand on Weasley’s arm which cause him to snap his mouth shut over whatever he had planned to say about the overly formal introduction. Vivian relaxed slightly, though without any outward sign of tension. It would not do to show that she was worried, after all. It was not as if this introduction and their response would change anything drastically, even if their acceptance of her proposed alliance would make her future plans a lot easier to achieve. Granger’s ears kept twitching as did her deceptively fluffy tail. Potter looked towards Longbottom for guidance. Perhaps Alex held the truth of it, and the Potter heir had somehow been allowed to come to Hogwarts completely ignorant of his heritage and untrained in the duties befitting his station. Oh, that would be a fine mess to deal with should the next few minutes go in her favor.

 

“Greetings, Lady Selwyn,” Longbottom led, despite the fact that he had to know that he was speaking out of turn. Vivian smiled, careful not to show any teeth. She nodded an acknowledgement of his words and his slight bow. Potter dutifully copied both the words and the motion. Vivian measured a deep curtsy to the Potter heir, as benefited his greater rank, though she was careful to keep her head level as she did so. For his part, Potter just looked confused. _‘The poor darling,’_ she mentally purred, even as Longbottom continued to speak for his better. “Heir Potter will take your proposal under consideration. For now, may we continue our study session as we had planned?”

 

“Of course, Heir Longbottom,” Vivian allowed. She had won the prize, she knew, and what a boon it was: a powerful ally who knew next to nothing about his uses, one that she could train up to suit her so long as she continued to be honest in her dealings with him. This was a very profitable afternoon, even if she would have to deal with the idiot Weasley to gain said profit. “I believe we would benefit from a complete suspension of titles for the duration of our sessions. It would certainly make studying easier without worrying about such trivialities as honorifics, given as three of us are unaware of their heritage.”

 

“Thank you, Selwyn.”

 

“Of course, Longbottom,” she replied before returning to her seat. As the Gryffindors followed suit, Vivian questioned the group as to what they should study first. This, in turn, set off Granger who apparently had an entire itinerary planned. Vivian admired the efficiency even as she outwardly shared in the boys’ aggravated sighs. How had Granger managed to escape being sorted into Ravenclaw? Maybe she would find out before the girl was sold away like chattel. That would be such a loss to Britannia. Granger was driven, morally conscious, and highly intelligent. She would be invaluable to restoring Britannia to its former glory and instrumental to rising it to a new Golden Age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thing that I feel I need to point out because of a previous review: Vivian's thought about Hermione's inferior birth has /nothing/ to do with blood purity.


	7. Duels and Conflicts

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 07: Duels and Conflicts

-= LP =-

“The mark of a great man is one who knows when to set aside the important things in order to accomplish the vital ones.” – Brandon Sanderson, _The Alloy of Law_

-= LP =-

 

The spring break approached quicker than Hermione had been expecting. In the two weeks since the two groups had joined together, they had finished the second year Charms syllabus. The inclusion of the Ravenclaws also meant an adjustment to the study schedule. It wasn’t because they were only first years so much as they (along with Selwyn) demanded that at the very least other branches of wand magic be added to Hermione’s incessant push. Following Professor Flitwick’s advice, Hermione spent the two sessions that the newly-enlarged group had in the library to work on essays for every class except History and Defense against the Dark Arts. History class was also used for that purpose, while Hermione had stopped going to Defense at all, something in which Harry would have been eager to follow except he found that Lockhart noticed when he was not there. A detention spent sorting the ponce’s fan-mail convinced Harry it would be better to just attend the stupid class.

 

The inclusion of their token Slytherin had actually been an unexpected boon, as she had taught Harry, Ron, and Hermione some basic magical exercises meant to promote nuanced control of the power a witch or wizard put into a spell. The concept had be brought up when Selwyn had claimed she couldn’t stand to watch the Trio working so hard on their Transfiguration a moment longer. It was simply too exhausting. Neville had looked particularly sheepish at not realizing that the Trio wouldn’t have known about the exercises. Hermione had been disappointed to discover that there were not any books on the exercises in the Hogwarts library. Afterwards, Luna had pulled Harry aside for a private conversation that had his face alternating between pink and white.

 

It was Silverhale who suggested that the best way to study Defense spells was to use them in action. The Gryffindor boys quickly leapt upon the opportunity to practice dueling. Selwyn’s smile when they had agreed to set aside Sundays for their practice duels had both Hermione and Harry nervous, especially after the stunt that Malfoy had pulled at the first and only session of Dueling Club. Ron had demanded Selwyn not to use all the dark curses that he _knew_ that she knew, being a Slytherin. Silverhale had merely chuckled darkly but refused to explain why.

 

Despite Ron’s insistence otherwise, Selwyn did not seem to have mastered any spells darker than the fourth year Defense syllabus, and when complimented on getting that far on her own, she merely waved a hand dismissively before pointing out that the first year syllabus focused on creatively using Charms spells, and the majority of third year was focused on creatures. On the other hand, her speed was something that only Harry could match and while the famous Boy-Who-Lived certainly had more magical strength than her, her accuracy was frightening to watch.

 

Silverhale seemed to favor intimating barrage as a fighting style combined (especially if his opponent was Ron) copious amounts of trash talk. He demonstrated on several occasions that he was extremely well read on spells which affect temperature changes. Unlike Seamus, Silverhale’s explosions were controlled and used to devastating effects. Ron was also his favorite target for said explosions. Silverhale also tended to make the dueling space into a hazardous space, which in turn, limited his opponent’s movements. Ice and hail were favorite weapons of his.

 

Whenever Luna and Neville fought it was as if they moved through a series of dances of which they alone knew the steps. It was like watching poetry in motion in a very literal sense and reminded Hermione of those rare times in which her parents could dance together. Luna would move about the space in twirls and graceful flourishes while Neville would follow along with careful precision. It was especially careful as Neville’s wand seemed to have a mind of its own on occasion and would add unpredictable effects to his spellcasting. Hermione could tell that it annoyed the boy, but apparently the wand was his father’s; his grandmother had insisted he used it instead of having him fit for his own.

 

After watching Neville and Luna fight other people, Hermione had determined that it was Luna who had the almost otherworldly grace. It was almost as if she could predict exactly how a spell will travel, even without looking. Luna also had an advantage that no one else in the group seemed to have managed yet. Luna always cast her spells nonverbally. Whatever conversations she kept having with Harry seemed to be making him adopt some of her habits, which in turn made his speed even greater.

 

Neville on the other hand, had a quiet efficiency to his movements. While he was still clumsy, he seemed to be compensating by strictly controlling his motions. This led to a complete lack of the little flourishes that marked most of the spellcasting that Hermione had witnessed since coming to Hogwarts. There was only one wizard whose style was similar and that was Professor Flitwick.

 

Hermione would have loved to have gone home for the break, just to be with her parents one last time, but Professor Dumbledore had been quick to point out that he had only managed to gain her the months that she now had by assuring the Ministry that she would stay in the castle. She tried writing letters to her parents, but could never bring herself to write the words to describe her predicament. That would make it real again and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to ruin her family’s Easter, no matter how much she longed to tell them that she loved them.

 

She wouldn’t even have the distraction of increased lessons with Harry for the duration of the break. Harry was going home with Neville instead of staying at the castle as he had last year. Neither boy could explain the departure from expectations, except to say that it was necessary. Ron had made a snide comment about it being part of the process of turning Harry into a bloody Slytherin. Neville and Harry did nothing to defend against the accusation, but unfortunately for Ron, Silverhale had heard the comment and took offense on Selwyn’s behalf. Silverhale also had mastered the Silencing Spell, despite it being a fifth year spell.

 

“Do you really think you’re the only one capable of reading ahead, Granger?” he had asked when Hermione had asked how he knew that spell. “I’ve been practicing magic since my core stabilized enough to allow it. I was seven. I may have went to a muggle school, but that did not take up all of my time. My grandparents deplore wasted time.” Harry snickered at that comment. “Think that’s funny, Potter?”

 

“It’s just—that’s how Neville described his Gran,” Harry said hastily, seeing the firstie’s wand twitch threateningly. His nervousness quickly turned to curiosity, as Harry was becoming prone towards since his declaration in the Hospital Wing. “Are all grandparents in the wizarding world like that?”

 

“Daddy’s parents have crossed the Veil, but Grandmama likes to keep busy,” Luna commented quietly. “I rarely see her though. She lives in Greece.” She saw Ron fuming as the conversation turned away from the fact that he was silenced. She chose to misunderstand and instead answered for the ginger. “I’ve met Sir Septimus a few times. He did not seem the type to waste time either.”

 

“Grandfather also finds wasted time disgusting. If you had down time, you had time to be doing something to better yourself,” Selwyn added. She seemed to hesitate a moment before continuing. After hearing what she said, Hermione could see why someone in her particular House would not share the information as readily as a Gryffindor might have. “But my mother’s parents aren’t like that at all. Grammy says that silliness is a necessity for childhood success and Grim demanded that I have at least one hobby that was not academic or combat related. My understanding is that this difference may be related to the fact that they are both muggleborns, instead of _magum_.”

 

“But you’re a Slytherin,” Harry said confusedly, “and all the pureblood custom stuff—I just thought...”

 

“Thought what, exactly?” It was clear that Selwyn was used to this information being thought of as a contradiction. It was also clear that people thinking this annoyed her. Though she did not raise her voice, her next words were delivered with a great deal of sarcastic ire. If that did not make her position clear, then the fact that she had begun to pack her belongings with forceful precision definitely did. “That I wouldn’t admit to my muggle heritage, however removed, because of my House? That I couldn’t be a member of the _magum_ with nonmagical heritage? Longbottom clearly has left gaps in your education, Heir Potter of Letum, son of Lord James Charlus Potter and Lady Lily Elizabeth, the youngest person to ever achieve three Masteries.”

 

Harry blushed in response to her defensive comments, choosing to say no more on the topic. He did glance at Neville in surprise at the mention of his mother’s achievement. Neville mouthed something that Hermione didn’t catch after giving a sharp nod in response. Harry’s eyes widened that would have been comical had Hermione not been scenting after new information like a factoid-seeking hound.

 

Hermione was not put off by the defensive tone that the Slytherin had used. She recognized it for what it was: impatience for people to catch up with her. Hermione often felt that way when she tried talking about social issues with other kids her age, especially here at Hogwarts where blood seemed to count for so much. Hermione knew that Selwyn must be used to having this information used against her, just as people at the private school that she had attended prior to Hogwarts had teased Hermione for her parents being dentists or Aunt Emmy’s presence in their home. Hermione was bursting with questions, which she proceeded to fire off at the other girl before she could leave in an exasperated huff.

 

“What’s that word you used? Are you considered a pureblood? How did learn these customs if you weren’t born to them?”

 

“I _was_ born to them,” Selwyn insisted. “I learned the customs the same way that anyone does: I was taught them by someone who knew them. In my case, my father and paternal grandparents along with numerous governesses and tutors. Blood status does not matter. _Ever_. I am _magum_ and that is what counts. The _magum_ are the privileged families that have been graced with land holdings, the related titles, honors, and duties. Mother Magic Herself has charged us with the duty of protecting Her Chosen Children, and as such we are to be held to a higher level of social expectation. Then there is the matter of our magic.”

 

“What about the magic?” Harry asked warily. Selwyn looked at him briefly before turning her blue-green eyes towards Neville who merely rubbed the back of his neck. Luna rubbed her forehead as if experiencing a headache. Ron chose that moment to slam his fists upon the table in front of him, which drew Madam Pince’s giblet eye. Silverhale heaved a sigh but reversed his spell on the hot-headed Gryffindor before he acted out again.

 

“It’s pureblood nonsense,” Ron declared the moment his voice was returned. “There’s no difference between a pureblood’s magic and a muggleborn’s. It’s bunk just like that Mother Magic malarkey.”

 

“And it is idiocy like that which got your family blacklisted,” Selwyn replied matter-of-factly. She had one hand on Silverhale’s wand arm as if she was restraining him. Eerily, her face was as blank as a mask, even as her eyes appraised the youngest Weasley son. It was the same calculating look that she wore when the Gryffindors had met her for the first time. Hermione was learning to recognize that it was the expression that the other girl defaulted to when she was determining the exact words and actions that she needed to get whatever reaction that she needed from someone. Vivian Selwyn tended towards ruthlessness when irritated, and the Slytherin often clashed against Ron. “But then your household has abandoned the Olde Ways, haven’t you? The Prewetts were once a strong family who served Magic well and the Weasleys still are. Sir Septimus still serves to this day.” She tisked once as she cocked her head to the side. “Such a disappointment your father must be to him.”

 

“Leave my father out of this, you slimy Slytherin! Your ‘old ways’ are nothing but DARK MAGIC!”

 

“I will have you know that the only one who is slimy is Malfoy with his gallons of hair gel. Pity that the potion is not as flammable as it is disgusting.” Selwyn glanced over Ron’s head towards the now approaching librarian. “Oh, will you look at that? It seems our study session will be breaking up early thanks to Bilius’ too loud comments on a subject about which he knows _nothing_. Typical Gryffindor.”

 

“I want you out of my library,” demanded Madam Pince before any of the Gryffindors could complain about the Slytherin’s classification of the typical behaviors of their House. “If you don’t leave now, I will suspend your library privilege until a week after the break.”

 

Hermione’s ears laid back in distress even as she began hastily cleaning up her supplies. Most of the others followed suit. Luna was a notable exception to the rushed packing. Everyone who spent a great deal of time in the library had learned by the end of September that the indomitable Madam Pince had a clear soft for the little first year Ravenclaw. It did have nice advantages such as reserved use of the best table in the library and tutoring in specialized spells for research and preservation of information. It also had the drawback of the librarian being extremely protective of Luna which meant that she paid more attention to their group when they met in her realm. This was the third time that Madam Pince had ordered them from the Library, a distressing fact in light of this being only their fifth meeting in the Library. It did little to change Silverhale and Selwyn’s opinion of Gryffindors that each time had been because of Ron loudly declaiming them.

 

Silverhale and Selwyn left together towards the dungeons as the Gryffindors turned towards their tower. Hermione realized a hall away from the entrance that she had loaned her planner to Luna earlier. She turned back and hurried back to the library, hoping to catch the dreamy blonde before she left for her own Tower. Hermione whipped around the corner into the North corridor and nearly collided into the Ravenclaw.

 

“Oh, there you are! I’m so glad I caught you,” Hermione said.

 

Luna had Hermione’s planner in one hand. The blonde had the other on Hermione’s arm. They shared a smile before Luna handed over the book. Hermione went to pull away only for Luna to not release her hold. Where their skin touched, Hermione felt like there was something pulling at something deep inside of her. Luna’s eyes were slightly unfocused as she examined Hermione’s face. When she spoke, her words were a hushed whisper that still managed to sound like it should have more volume.

 

“I know you’re scared, but you know that Harry loves you, right?”

 

“I’m not scared,” Hermione denied immediately. She tried tugging on her arm, but Luna refused to let her go. Luna was just looking at Hermione, as if she was waiting her out. Damn it, but it worked. “Okay, maybe a little, but Luna, you don’t understand. In the muggle world, if a girl is sold into slavery, they—it’s not good, for her, I mean.” She curled the arm holding the planner in to cover her developing chest. “And I haven’t told my parents yet. How can you say goodbye to someone whose world you are? And Harry is pulling away, and I know that is my fault, but it’s not my fault because I’m _human_ and I’m a witch. This shouldn’t be happening! Why should it matter how much magic that my parents have?”

 

“It’s Voldemort’s fault,” she said. Her eyes grew more focused than Hermione could remember them being in the two weeks since she had met the other girl. “He took the _magum_ ’s teachings and corrupted them. Mother Magic blessed all of us with magic, but the _magum_ have fought to protect all Magic, and as such, they gained favor with Mother Magic. They are typically stronger than the average magical, for several different reasons of which breeding is only one. They usually train in magic from a very young age, like Alexander starting when he was seven and I think that Vivian was even younger. She changes the subject whenever it is brought up. Magic is like a muscle; the more it is used, the stronger it gets. Vivian doesn’t like to acknowledge it, but all the formalities is really a form of protection for everyone who is not _magum_.”

 

“Protection?” Hermione questioned as she stared into Luna’s eyes. Her eyes were not a solid gray but had blades of different shades of gray and blue cutting through them. It was strangely mesmerizing as if Luna was seeing something deep within Hermione and slowly coaxing it from that depth to the surface. Then Luna blinked in slow motion. Before Hermione could think of a reaction, she felt herself blink back in the same slow way. Luna gave her a gentle smile in response, confusing Hermione even more. “I don’t understand.”

 

“If everyone carried a weapon capable of killing a dozen of people at once with nothing more than a wave of it, would it not be protection for the people holding them to be extremely polite? For them to be indoctrinated with a rigid code of honor and ethics to the point that they would never think to stray from it?”

 

“Of course, but I don’t understand how that relates to—“

 

“But don’t you see? The weapon is magic. Magic is not evil nor is it good. It is a tool, and in the wrong hands, it can be devastating.”

 

“Oh.” Hermione saw then what Luna was trying to tell her. If their every action and reaction carried the possibility of death, it made sense that they were more careful about what they did. To achieve the kind of effect that would be necessary, parents had to start training their children young. This was also the second time that this mysterious group had been talked about in the concept of protection and combat. Her initial impression of the _magum_ was that they were similar to the _haut ton_ of the Regency and Victorian era, but with the more she heard, the more that impression began to take on the ideology of _bushido_ or chivalry. The advanced dueling skills of the four people that she knew to be members suddenly began to take on a different meaning. How much of that was nurture and how much was nature? Harry was quickly showing the same habits, learning by observing others like he always did, but even before that, he had been a formidable duelist.

 

Hermione remembered all the havoc caused by her bouts of accidental magic prior to learning about Hogwarts. She wasn’t allowed to attend any of Uncle Cory’s formal garden parties because of the risk that she might be exposed to the military types that frequented them. Even not knowing what was causing the floating objects, Dad could recognize something that would be an asset to a military operation. The Grangers may have a seat in the House of Lords, but they all knew that it was an extremely minor seat without enough legal clout to stop the MI6 from making Hermione quietly disappear from their lives. While this decision to limit Hermione’s opportunities for exposure had isolated her, her almost manic desire to know everything about everything did not exactly make befriending other girls at her school easy either. Harry’s decision to track her down to warn her about that bloody troll had saved her life in more ways than one.

 

She could only imagine what Harry’s magic looked like as a child. Hermione felt no shame in admitting that her friend was a great wizard. As she told him in the Riddle room last year, she had what she had learned from books, but Harry was something _more_ than most of their year. She may beat him in the first cast of a new spell, but once he learned it, Harry could cast it better in a thousand different ways. She also suspected that he experienced magic in a different way from her. In their practical sessions, he would hang back from attempting it. Instead, he would watch as everyone else attempt it first. Whatever it was that he was seeing, it gave him an advantage when he faced Luna in a duel. If Luna and Neville looked like they were dancing, then Harry and Luna looked as if they were locked in a battle of wills. Hermione had the feeling that if she could see magic, then their duels would be beyond spectacular.

 

“But if the _magum_ are so strong, why did everyone think that Neville was a squib? I remember his story about the things that his Uncle Algie used to do to him to force magic out of him.”

 

“I can’t tell you why the Longbottoms doubted Neville’s magic,” Luna said sadly. Her eyes shimmered with tears. Hermione knew that Luna must know something about the shy Gryffindor that she was not going to share, but what could be worse than his uncle trying to kill him? “I can tell you that they did have good reason to do so. Children are both incredibly resilient and extraordinarily fragile, Hermione, and 1981 was not a good year for our generation. Had you not noticed that your year is so much smaller than the other years?”

 

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Hermione protested weakly.

 

“Oh, Hermione, why do you think people fear his _name_? The Taboo can only account for so much of that fear. The rest… Hogwarts is not for _all_ the magical children of Britannia. It’s for the _strongest_ of those children, and magic grows through time. Voldemort lured those purebloods who were not _enough_ of anything to be a part of the _magum_ , but who felt that they should have the same level of things as them, after all they, too, could trace their bloodlines back impressive amounts, as if that was what made _magum_. Then he and his followers decimated the families which produced children destined for Hogwarts. He particularly focused on those who opposed him, not just in battle but also in society and in the Wizengamot as well. He feared no one and nothing. He was unstoppable, undefeatable.”

 

“That’s wrong. He feared Dumbledore. Everyone knows that.”

 

“You should be careful of what you read in books, Hermione,” Luna cautioned, but not unkindly. Luna looked lost in memories that she could not have so intimately as to become lost. Her expression was almost blank, as if this topic was so upsetting that she had become numb. Weak sunlight filtered in through a nearby window and got caught in Luna’s long blonde hair, giving the girl an otherworldly halo. She trailed her hand up Hermione’s arm to her shoulder. The Ravenclaw then squeezed gently. “Dumbledore did very little to actually fight Voldemort, unless one was allied to him, which had very little reward and a lot of risk. His policies focused more on outlawing magic that he felt was unbecoming of his vision of the Greater Good than countering Voldemort’s policies. To many of the more traditionalist families, many of them _magum_ , they were fighting a war on two fronts, and their right to live in accordance to Magic’s Laws hung in the balance. No one was winning, and everyone was losing.”

 

“Dumbledore is a great man!”

 

“And so was Voldemort.”

 

There was nothing that Hermione could say that would counter that. With a sinking feeling, she remembered how Dumbledore had not really tried to change her fate, just delay it. He had so many titles in the Wizarding World. He was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surely there was _something_ that he could do about her status. Yet, he did nothing to stop it from happening. Nothing could change the fact that Dumbledore was, indeed, a great man.

 

It remained to be seen if he was also a _good_ one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pull from several places for ideas to work into my magical culture. In this chapter, I specifically mention that Hogwarts is only for the strongest of wizards and witches. I read a lot of fanfiction and much of it is Harry Potter, so I may have came across this in a large variety of places. However, I can also distinctly remember reading this in "The Marriage Stone" by Josephine Darcy. So it is her that I will give credit to for this bit of inspiration. While I am giving credit, another major source of inspiration for my magical culture is the works of Ell Roche. I follow both authors on FFN.


	8. Idle Hands

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 08: Idle Hands

-= LP =-

“ ‘Tis known by the name of perseverance in a good cause, and of obstinacy in a bad one.”

– Laurence Stone

-= LP =-

 

The Common Room always had a hushed quality to it, but Vivian noticed a difference when she entered it after the last study session before the spring break. The previous two weeks had been perhaps the oddest she had ever experienced. The Gryffindors clearly were plotting something, but just as clearly, they weren’t doing it as a group. Vivian had gotten used to the non-sound made by conversations ceasing as she arrived. It was exactly what greeted her as the wall closed behind her.

 

She had been expecting this. The code of Slytherin House prevented any confrontation among its members outside of the Common Room, but Malfoy would never allow an alliance to begin without having his say. The fool fancied himself the future leader of the House because of who his father is. Unfortunately, Flint had to allow the brat on the team, due to the brooms that Lucius Malfoy had bought for the House. Lilim Moon was a better flyer. The Moons were not willing to jockey for position in the temporary haven of Hogwarts like the Malfoys apparently were. The Malfoys had nothing on the Selwyns, however, and the little boy walking towards her flanked by his goons was going to be surprised if he expected her to give into his desire to pretend to be a rival of the Boy-Who-Lived.

 

“You’ve been hanging out with Potter,” Malfoy accused. With clinical detachment, Vivian calculated the distance that the twerp left between them. It was wide enough that they would each need to speak at a volume that would be heard by the entire room, but he had clearly not been thinking of the situation escalating. She could easily draw either of her weapons and attack him before Crabbe or Goyle could do anything to stop her. _‘Idiot,’_ she mentally snarled as she raised a single eyebrow in question. “We won’t allow it to continue! Potter is a stupid halfblood!”

 

“Halfblood, he may be, but do you really want to claim that he is stupid?”

 

“Of course the specky git is stupid!”

 

“Have you seen the rankings lately? He’s twelfth. What are you again?”

 

Predictably, Malfoy flushed at the reminder that he ranked dead center of their class. As pale as he was, the added color made him splotchy. It was truly unflattering, especially with the overly gelled hair. Vivian grinned at him in response. The _‘if he’s stupid, what does that make you?’_ remained unsaid, but equally heard by the gathered Slytherins.

 

Lilim Moon didn’t bother to restrain her giggles which set off Tracey Davis. Even the ever stoic Daphne Greengrass had cracked a small grin and Blaise Zabini had his nose carefully buried in his book though Vivian was completely certain that he was watching the power play unfold. Millicent Bulstrode stood at the back of his chair like a silent gargoyle, her dark eyes measuring the threat of violence from the bickering rivals. Vivian had the distinct impression that the stoutly built girl either knew or suspected the itch that was in Vivian’s fingers to break out her daggers. Theodore Nott wrinkled his face as if thinking was a bit difficult to do without some sort of cheese.

 

Vivian assessed the room with a practiced eye. There were only a handful of the rest of the house present, but those who were made up the entirety of the Powers that Be for Slytherin. The gathered Slytherins had arranged themselves by faction, all except her fellow second years who were gathered into the chair cluster closest to the entrance. The Power for every year along with all seven of the recognized Quidditch ones (because Terence Higgs still claimed the title of the Seeker Power, despite losing his starting position on the team) was gathered around the common room, along with their seconds and thirds. None of them were obvious about watching the second years. Vivian didn’t need them to be for her to know that they were.

 

This was the official move for dominance among her age group then. She and Malfoy had been dancing around each other for a year and a half now, not really engaging in the battle for leader or only doing it among their year. According to the official code of Slytherin House, the determination of a year leader had to be witnessed by the Powers that Be and accepted by the same.

 

“That’s only because the professors are biased,” Parkinson bit out hotly as Malfoy glowered ineffectively. Vivian’s grin grew. That was going to cost him. There was only one Power per year and only one person could claim it.

 

“Oh, how cute,” Vivian remarked. “You think that Malfoy is being marked unfairly. How categorically untrue. Unlike his spot on the team, Malfoy earned his rank through concentrated effort. _Some_ professors can be impartial.”

 

“I earned my spot!”

 

“Oh, how so?” Vivian asked surprised. “Did you have to do chores to earn the money to buy the brooms?” Malfoy growled at her while his bookends cracked their knuckles threateningly. She itched to pull her daggers, but that might escalate things before she had the full support of the Powers. Her daggers left her very little methodology in neutralizing Crabbe and Goyle without spilling blood, something that might cost her the backing of Zabini, if the rumors about his mother were to be believed.

 

“You should mind your betters, Selwyn,” Malfoy shouted. The resulting silence was so complete, not even the crackle of the fire in the fireplace made noise. Vivian was not grinning now. Instead, her expression was as the cold bluestone that made up Hogwarts. It was the line that she had been waiting for him to cross. Now all she had to do was put the upstart in his place.

 

“Do you forget who you are speaking to, Draco Malfoy? You are not now nor will you ever be _my_ better. The Selwyns are _magum_. Malfoy doesn’t even rank for an Ancient House, particularly in this country. I am _your_ better and I will not be disrespected by the likes of a _frog_. I have managed to make the beginnings of an alliance with the Lost Potter, as is my right as _magum_. Your role in the whole thing is to nod your acceptance and _mind your betters_.”

 

Before Malfoy could reply, Claudia Howell, the seventh year Power, began to clap slowly. Marcus Flint took up the approval with great slaps to the side of his left leg. With the official approval of the seventh year and Quidditch Powers, it was a forgone conclusion that she had won this round but the growing sound of the other Powers joining into the round of applause was reassuring. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused at the sound while Parkinson appeared to be sucking on an overly sour sherbet lemon. Malfoy had passed red and splotchy and looked to be on his way to an amazingly unflattering shade of puce.

 

“Just wait until my father hears about this,” Malfoy declared nastily. In a flash, Adrian Pucey had appeared beside him. The fourth year Power seemed much too happy when he pinched Malfoy’s right ear between two fingers and twisted it like her house elf would do to herself whenever she was tempted to help Vivian sneak away from the governess or tutors. Malfoy gave an undignified howl of pain which continued as Pucey began to drag the new Seeker into the study rooms attached to the common room. The rest of the Quidditch team, both first string and reserve, followed the cackling Chaser and yelping Seeker.

 

“It will be sorted,” Flint declared flatly before he brought up the rear of the contingent. The Powers began to drift out of the room until all that was left was second years sans Malfoy. Feeling the weight of the gazes, Vivian’s back straightened even as she rocked to the balls of her feet.

 

“I hate you,” Parkinson declared recklessly.

 

Vivian merely looked at her and raised an eyebrow before looking at the rest of her charges. Moon gave another grin with too many teeth to be considered human. Davis refused to meet her eyes while Greengrass refused to look away or blink. A quick glance revealed that Greengrass was clutching Davis’ wrist hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Meeting Greengrass’ gaze once more, Vivian nodded in acknowledgment and reassurance that she wasn’t going to make the sole half-blood of their year the scapegoat for trouble. The relaxation of Greengrass’ shoulders was minute but Vivian could see it. Bulstrode had moved around Blaise’s armchair so that if necessary it did not block her. Zabini’s book now rested open against his stomach while his hands were steepled together to touch his lips. His dark purple eyes were half covered by his eyelids as he assessed her right back. When she felt the brush of his cold magic touch her, she didn’t hesitate to seize it and twist like Pucey had Malfoy’s ear. Instead of the expected wince, his sole reaction was a seductive grin. Nott just looked like he was going to be sick.

 

“You don’t have to like me,” Vivian countered after refocusing on the pug-nosed girl. Vivian paused long enough for Parkinson to begin to relax. Then she twisted the knife. “You just have to obey me.”

 

-= LP =-

 

Alexander sat hunched over his desk. The only sound in the dormitory at this late hour was the quiet scratching of his mechanical pencil against the fine paper of his work journal. Books were scattered across his desk, all of them open to a different page. The writing slowed before finally stopping.

 

Setting down the utensil, the Ravenclaw pulled one of the muggle books over the notebook. His lips silently traced the words on the page as he read. With a frown, he pushed the text away from him and began flipping through a book on spell craft. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he snapped the book closed and dropped his head upon its leather cover. Thumps were heard as he bounced his head against it in frustration.

 

Finally, he leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face as if attempting to remove the gritty feeling from his eyes by force. Alexander had known that it would take a lot of effort. He was creating something that had never been done in the magical world. Of course it would be difficult. He wished, not for the first time since starting this project, that he had Vivian’s instinctive grasp of spell creation or perhaps Luna’s ability to see magic. Giving up, he began to put his research material away in the secret compartment in his trunk.

 

He’d pick back up tomorrow night after he got home for spring break. If he still had a problem finding the ratio that he needed, he would have time over the holiday to visit his grandparents at Wrightfall. While not a _magum_ family, the Silverhales were still an Ancient House and their library reflected that. As he got ready for bed, Alexander idly wondered if Potter had access to the Potter Library. It was a wish that probably wouldn’t bear fruit any time soon, considering how woefully ignorant the other boy was of his heritage, but Longbottom seemed to be changing that. Perhaps someday, Potter will reclaim Ashnook and if Alexander maintained his alliance with him, he may be able to access the library there. That plan hinged on Potter not having the normal _magum_ tendency to forbid people outside of the House from accessing family libraries. Despite his betrothal with the heiress of the House of Selwyn, Alexander was still not allowed to step foot in the library at Wyndalmoor. In this case, Potter being raised by muggles might actually be a good thing, no matter how much it made the boy a ticking bomb otherwise.

 

“Great works are performed not by strength, but by perseverance,” Alexander said as he tucked himself into his four-poster bed. The words were familiar and well-used. If he was inclined to be spiritual like his grandparents or even his mother, the words could have been a prayer as mindfully as he recited them. As it was, they were his personal mantra, a nightly reminder that his project was the work of a lifetime and the slow progress was not anything by which he should be discouraged. Most of the maths that he was dealing with were complexed and advanced enough that a normal boy his age would not have made a quarter of the progress that Alexander had in the two years since he began his project.

 

 _‘Great works are performed not by strength, but by perseverance._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The person who can figure out what Alexander's project is before it's revealed in the story can have a lifetime supply of the cyber baked good of their choice. ...and maybe a gift fic. If I can figure out how that works.


	9. Conspiracies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note(s): So, not dead. Yay! Also, I’m now cross-posting on my AO3 account. The link is on my profile page, along with my Facebook page. Otherwise, I can be found as Magi_Silverwolf on AO3 and Magi.Silverwolf on Facebook. If you are interested in some of my original (but not formally published yet) original work, I also have a FictionPress account under the name M.A. Silverwolf. Those stories and poems are not currently up anywhere else.

-= LP =-

Through Feline Eyes

Chapter 09: Conspiracies

-= LP =-

"The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing."

– Leigh Hunt

-= LP =-

 

Harry was nervous. This was the first time he had left Hogwarts during the school year, but that was not the part that was truly making him nervous. It was the series of appointments that he would be making during this two week period that had him so anxious. Despite having gotten to know Neville better the last few months, the Dowager Longbottom remained an unknown factor. Harry remembered every off-handed comment that Neville had made about the elderly witch and her exacting standards that seemed impossible to meet, even to Neville who had been trained from birth to do so. Then there was the requested meeting with Hermione’s parents. Harry didn’t know much about them except that they were dentists and muggles. Hermione would always change the topic when it came to them—so either they were really private or they were as horrible as the Dursleys…who Harry would also be seeing this break.

 

_‘Oh, joy.’_

 

What was perhaps the worst part was leaving Hermione alone at Hogwarts. The rest of the study group that had formed around the catgirl had opted for leaving for the spring break. Harry knew it was not a deliberate plan to isolate her, as all the plans had been made separately, but the devastated look on Hermione’s face as they left for the carriages was stuck on the back of his eyelids. It was especially hard since Harry did not want to tell her why he had to leave. Harry was too familiar with the hurt that false hope could cause. He simply could not inflict it upon his friend. There was too many things that could still go wrong, least of which was being outbid the day of the auction.

 

Harry spotted her first. The Dowager Longbottom had an impressive height for a woman. Thus she towered above the crowd of young teens even before one added the vulture which decorated her favorite green hat. Unlike Mrs. Weasley who favored modern muggle dresses, Neville’s grandmother wore a corseted dress that would not have been out of place in Victorian London except that it did not have a bustle. Like the hat, it was a dark green, though Harry could see thin pinstripes of black. This made the vibrant red of her oversized handbag stand out like Harry did on Privet Drive. Moreover, when she finally did spot Neville and Harry, she did not look pleased to see them. Instead, her expression might as well as had been carved from granite for all the softness it conveyed.

 

“Gran,” Neville greeted her, only for her to frown at him. He cleared his throat and started again. “Grandmother, may I present my friend Harry Potter? If you’ll recall, he is staying with us during break. Harry, this is my grandmother, the Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom, regent of House Longbottom.”

 

Harry didn’t quite know what to do. According to Neville’s lessons, Harry was not supposed to bow to regents of a House, due to his stature as a future duke. On the other hand, Augusta Longbottom was very intimidating and Harry did want to make a good impression upon the person he was hoping would consent to becoming his magical guardian. Thinking on his feet, Harry took the offered hand and bowed over it before placing a brief kiss to the knuckles. When he raised, he noticed that her lips had thinned into a deeper frown even as her eyes had turned upwards at the corners.

 

“Such a charmer,” she remarked drily. For all the evenness of the words, they did not lack real warmth. After he released her hand, she brushed the fingertips down his cheek. “Your father was quite the charmer as well, Mr. Potter, but I’m sure you’ve heard that many times by now.”

 

“Actually, ma’am, I have heard very few stories of my parents. All I really know is that I look like my father but with my mother’s eyes.”

 

“I see,” Augusta remarked. There seemed to be a great deal of anger and disgust in the two syllables. Her hand fell from Harry’s cheek to aggressively straighten her skirt. Harry wasn’t sure what it was that she was seeing, but her dark blue eyes seemed to be measuring him now. Her frown deepened. Harry’s heart clenched painfully. He had known her for all of two minutes, but the thought of disappointing her already hurt. She turned her back to him and stalked off towards the doorway that led to the muggle world. Harry exchanged a glance with Neville before both boys took off after her.

 

As first impressions went, Harry was not sure how this one measured. He did hope that things got better.

 

-= LP =-

 

“Now that we have dealt with old business, does anyone have any new business?”

 

The faulty lounge was quiet for a moment before the female professors began talking all at once. Severus Snape gave his customary sneer at his colleagues’ foolishness. He knew enough of the gossip to know what they were hoping to purpose at this meeting. While he did agree with their sentiments—not that he would ever admit it to anyone except on pain of death—he also knew that there was no way in which the headmaster would agree to it, nor would the Board of Governors, not with Lucius Malfoy at the helm. Finally, Albus set off a loud bang from his wand—the pale one, Severus noted, _not_ the dark, knobby one—and quiet reigned once more. _‘Now that was interesting_.’

 

“Now, one at a time,” Albus stated before refreshing his tea. He did not look at his subordinates as he added what Severus considered to be an obscene amount of lemon to the cup. Severus glanced over at the trio of witches furiously whispering at the end of the table, not-so-silently debating which one they would make their spokesperson. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Albus raised the doctored teacup to his lips.

 

“I believe that Hogwarts should buy Miss Granger,” Minerva declared. Severus let his scowl deepen because if she had waited ten seconds more, there would have been a good possibility that Albus would have choked on the tea, if not had sprayed it. Such a waste of an opportunity. Severus had so few pleasures in life, chained as he was to Albus’ side. Why couldn’t the bloody woman have a better sense of timing?

 

“Whatever for?” Albus asked, returning the cup to its saucer. Severus clucked his tongue softly as he began to plot. Minerva looked as if she was about to give into her Scottish temper. The Transfiguration Mistress may not have been a redhead as the esteemed headmaster once was, but that did not mitigate her temper one iota. Poppy and Pomona did not look happy either. _‘Perhaps,’_ Severus thought and began to make several plans of various timing.

 

“To save the brightest hope for the future from a fate worse than death,” Minerva snapped irritably. “She’s a student and God damn it, we have a duty!”

 

“There is no possible way that I could convince the Board to allow such an expenditure, Minerva.” Albus shook his head sadly. Then he sighed deeply as in regret. Then he raised the cup as if to drink. Severus readied his quip, only to be thwarted by the deputy headmistress once more. Seriously, did she have _no_ sense of timing?

 

“But you can’t do _nothing_ , Albus! Think of Potter and Weasley! They’ll be lost without her!”

 

“You don’t know that, Minerva,” Albus chided as he sat down the cup, “besides, were you not complaining just the other day about how Miss Granger had stopped turning in essays and that this had spread to Misters Potter and Weasley? Did you not express a worry that Mister Longbottom would follow suit? Maybe this is for the best—“

 

“Don’t you _dare_ , Albus—she is a child under our care. We are obligated to do what we can to save her!”

 

“You do not understand, my dear,” Albus said in a cloying tone. His sad, blue eyes watched his bristling deputy. “This could be what causes Harry to take his studies more seriously, as a way of honoring his lost friend. Yes, this could be for the Greater Good.” He nodded to himself, certain of everyone’s agreement. When no one else seemed eager to speak out against his edict, Albus once more raises his lemony tea to his lips. He successfully sipped at the citrus-tainted brew.

 

“Heaven knows the brat could use a fucking kick in the ass,” Severus interjected smoothly before Albus could swallow. The old man did choke, but he managed to keep from even dribbling. Filius, on the other hand, sprayed his foul-smelling concoction over the table. Since the half-goblin was sitting directly across from the headmaster, Albus got drenched. Repressing a smirk at this unexpected success, Severus took a sip of his own tea as he listened to Filius’ apologies and Albus’ admonishments for his language.

 

Life is not without its tiny perks.

 

-= LP =-

 

Lucius Malfoy was not happy. It appeared that his plan to discredit his two greatest rivals in one blow had somehow been thwarted. There had not been an attack since before the winter break. Without the ongoing threat of harm to the student body, his attempts to strong arm the other Governors could not progress. Dumbledore was not being shown as incompetent because _somehow_ the Great Albus Dumbledore had solved the issue. As if that was not enough of a hiccup, the evidence had not been discovered on the littlest Weasley, which would have discredited Arthur Weasley at a time when the Muggle Protection Act of 1992 was set to be voted upon in the Wizengamot.

 

The icing upon this distasteful cake was the news that his heir bore with him out of the Dungeon. As often happened some time in the second year of a set of students, there came the official Challenge of Power. Despite all the money that he had spent and favors he had called in, the boy had lost the Challenge. Not only had he lost the Challenge and the power that came out of it—power that carried over into the political arena of the Ministry, despite certain people’s dismissal of it—no, the _boy_ had lost to a barely-acceptably-pureblooded _girl_. Unlike a proper pureblooded girl, this one had the audacity to act as if she had the right to speak against a Malfoy. Lucius had the displeasure of having met the little brat due to Leonard Selwyn’s indulgence to her, allowing her to shadow him as he made rounds at the various parties and functions the Selwyn Head was obligated to attend. She would not stay out of the conversations of the adults, and would even argue with her elders as if she, a small slip of a girl not even to her Elective years at Hogwarts, had the right.

 

Maybe it was not too late to breed Narcissa once more. Perhaps another whelp would be worthy of the name Malfoy. For a brief moment, Lucius considered the possibility of finding a different, perhaps younger, woman to impregnate, one without the weakness that must have come from the Black blood. Unfortunately, Arcturus Black was a shrewd and thorough contractor. Divorce would cost the Malfoy family the bulk of their holdings including the Manor Estate that Abraxas Malfoy had managed to steal from a family of noble muggles and then had managed to forge documentation making it appear as if the estate had been in the Malfoy family all the way back to the Norman Invasion. A shift in ownership could so easily reveal the hidden truth, especially if the new owner had a desire to break the House. Besides, the alliance with the Blacks is the only reason that Lucius had the clout that he had to get bills passed. The House of Malfoy had no votes in the Wizengamot due to their origin as a French House and a history that only went back to the late sixteenth century whereas the Blacks were one of the first formal Houses in the British Isles. Moreover was the little fact of their status as _magum_ , something that was obvious in the beauty and grace of his bride but seemed to have skipped his son and took many of the strengths of the Malfoy line with it.

 

“—and she’s hanging out with Potter and the freaky mudblood,” Draco said as he devoured his roast duck and fingerling potatoes without a care. Lucius cleared his throat in reprimand, but Draco just continued his spiel, punctuating his words with a wave of the fork bearing a much too large portion of duck dripping rose sauce. “Theo said that the Ministry will be claiming the half-beast as public livestock at the end of the school year. Who would want to own a filthy mudblood with cat ears and a tail? Can you imagine the smell?”

 

“Draco Aurelius,” Narcissa interrupted the boy’s tangent. Her tone was sharp and hard. It startled Draco so much that his teeth clicked when he shut his mouth. “You will eat in a civilized manner or you will leave this table. I will not tolerate this any longer. You know better. I demand you act as your station requires.”

 

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said, immediately reverting to proper graces. Where did the boy learn such atrocious mannerisms in the first place?

 

“Draco, I trust that you have not been using such vulgar language at school,” Lucius said. At Draco’s flush, Lucius felt the urge to sigh. All the effort to convince those who mattered that his service to the Dark Lord had been a farce, and what does the boy do? No wonder he failed to achieve the status that had been practically gift-wrapped for him. Perhaps making sure the boy could attend Hogwarts was a mistake. Then again, it was not as if there had been many choices that were acceptable as well as willing to take the boy.

An idea came to him then. The little mudblood was going up for sale at the end of the year. While she would be no good for true breeding, her younger body could easily carry an appropriately generated child who would benefit from the blood of its parents _and_ the supply of the mudblood’s stolen magic. This would solve the problem of Draco’s obvious failings while also being an excellent way of causing Dumbledore and Weasley at least mild distress. Arthur Weasley would have to face the nagging of his shrew of a wife while Dumbledore dealt with the blow to his reputation because he _did_ nothing to stop the girl’s fate.

 

Lucius allowed himself a smile. Perhaps something could be salvaged from this mess after all.


End file.
